EXCITEMENT ON THE WEST FORK

Leaving the main branch of Delaware Creek, a broad, sluggish stream that slowly made its way toward the muddy Pecos River, a party of horsemen turned up the west branch.

Horses and men alike were wearied, dusty, perspiring and sleepy under the glare of a midsummer Texas sun.  Little had been said for some time.  None felt like talking.  For hours they had been working south by west, urged on by the green of the foliage that they could see a short distance ahead.  At least it had seemed a short distance for the last five hours, but the green trees now appeared to be just as far away as when the party had first sighted them early in the morning.

At the head of the line rode a grizzled, stern-faced man, sitting on his pony very stiff and erect.  Just behind him was a young man, slender, fair haired and smiling, despite the discomfort his red face showed him to be suffering.  Still back of them rode three other young men, the last in the line being a disconsolate fat figure of a boy who slouched from side to side in his saddle, each lurch threatening to precipitate him to the ground.  The boy’s pony was dragging along with nose close to the earth, the bridle rein slipping lower and lower over the animal’s neck.  The fat boy was plainly asleep.  He had been slumbering in the saddle for more than an hour, and occasional mutterings indicated that he was dreaming.

“Professor, don’t you think we had better make camp and take a rest?” asked the first boy in the line, addressing the grizzled leader.

Professor Zepplin cast a critical glance down the line of jaded horses and riders, a faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

“All tired out, eh, Tad?” he questioned.

“Yes, I’ll confess that I am for once.  Of course I can stand it as long as the next one, but there’s no use in wearing out the stock,” answered Tad Butler.  “Chunky’s asleep.  Ned and Walter will be in a few minutes more.”

“Very good; call a halt.  We will ride into the bushes over there on the other side of the stream.  The water cannot be deep.  Some hot coffee will wake us all up.”

“Hoo—–­oo!” cried Tad, interrupting the professor.  “Wake up, fellows, and make camp!”

“Wha—–­what’s up?” demanded Ned Rector, straightening in his saddle.

“Nothing’s up, except ourselves, and we’ll all be down in a minute.  We’re going to ford the stream and make camp on the other side.”

“Is this the Guadalupe range?” asked Walter Perkins sleepily.

“This is the loop all right, but not the Guadalupe,” laughed Rector.  “Hullo, Chunky’s in the Land of Nod.”

“Wake him up, Ned,” nodded Tad.

“Not much.  Let him wake himself up.”

“His pony has gone to sleep, too,” added Walter.

“Yes, they are a couple of sleepy heads, Tad.”