CHAPTER V
EXCITEMENT AT HUNT'S CORNERS
"Is this another of those cry-baby songs?" questioned Ned.
"Yassir."
"Go on, go on," urged the boys.
W'en de sun roll in an' de moon roll out, An' de li'l stars git sprinkl't all erbout, Den ah listens fer my honey an' ah calls her an' ah shout, O Lindy, Lindy, Lindy, O my Lindy! O Lindy, come erlong An' listen at my song; De mockin' bu 'd is singin' ter his honey, Come, lemme sing ter you An' tell you, tell you true, Dat ah loves you mo' dan heaps er silver money,
Twice did the Pony Rider Boys roar out the chorus until they haddrowned the voice of the singer entirely. In their merriment theyforgot all about the breakfast, all about the thick slices of hamthat had long since dropped from the frying pan of the singing BillyVeal.
"Come, come, young men," interrupted the voice of Professor Zepplin."Singing is all right, but I want my breakfast."
Stacy thrust his chin up close to the Professor's face and in a low,crooning voice, sang,
Come, lemme sing ter you, An' tell you, tell you true, Dat ah loves you mo' dan heaps er silver money.
The boys chuckled at the ludicrous sight of Stacy Brown in hispajamas singing a lullaby to the dignified Professor. It was toomuch for the Professor's gravity, too. The latter let out his ownvoice in a roar of laughter that, according to Ned Rector indescribing the scene later, fairly shook old Smoky, miles off to thenorthward of them.
"Now, gentlemen," said Professor Zepplin, after having recovered hiscomposure, "if you will be good enough to rescue the ham from beneaththe feet of our guide, we will proceed with our preparations for themorning meal. You have a very fine voice, guide."
"Yassir."
"We shall be glad to have you sing for us again."
"Some day when you have such cold that you can't speak above awhisper," added Stacy Brown, trotting back to his tent to put on hisclothes.
Shortly after eight o'clock the camp was struck, tents packed andeverything put in shape for the journey to Hunt's Corners, thelocation of which Chops confidently assured them was a right smartdistance straight ahead. This proved to be true. It was four hourslater when the outfit drew up at a log building, one-storied, the lowporch being piled with small agricultural implements. In the rearwere three other buildings constructed of the same material, but notnearly so large as the store itself.
Several mountaineers were lounging about, and the arrival of the PonyRider Boys created considerable excitement. Jim Abs, proprietor ofthe store, came out to see what the commotion was about. Herecognized Billy at once, but glanced suspiciously from one to theother of the boys, whose warlike appearance evidently stirredapprehension in the mind of the keeper of the store at Hunt's Corners.
The boys slid from their saddles and tethered their horses at the tierail to one side of the store building. Professor Zepplin stepped up,followed by the crowd of loungers, and introduced himself to theproprietor, stating that they were desirous of laying in a stock ofsupplies.
"I reckon I kin accommodate ye," nodded Abs. "Where ye hail from?"
"The north," the Professor informed him.
"Say, Mister, where's the Corners?" piped Stacy.
"This is them," grinned the storekeeper.
"I don't see any corners except the corners of the building."
"You wouldn't know a corner if you were to meet it in Smoky Pass,"declared Tad.
"I know a good thing when I see it, and those bananas hanging therelook pretty real to me," answered Stacy, helping himself to half adozen of the well-seasoned bunch.
"That'll be thirty cents," said the storekeeper, extending a hand.Stacy regarded him solemnly. The fat boy's mouth was so full ofbanana that he was speechless for the moment.
Chunky nodded his head at Tad, indicating that Butler was to pay forthe fruit. Stacy was too busy to waste time in paying. Tadgood-naturedly handed out thirty cents.
"That's sixty-five cents you owe me now, Chunky. If you keep on atthis rate I'll have to levy on your pony."
"I wouldn't give sixty-five cents for his whole outfit," declared Ned.
"Perhaps that is because you haven't sixty-five cents," retorted Tad.
"Yes, I have. I've got several times sixty-five cents."
"It's counterfeit, then," mumbled Stacy.
"Boys," called the Professor coming to the door of the store, "didyou know this is a post office?"
"A post office?" cried the lads.
"Yes. I thought perhaps you might wish to send off some letters."
"Yes, we do. Indeed, we do," cried Ned and Tad and Walter in chorus.
"But we shall have to write them. We haven't any letters ready. Canwe get paper here? Ours is all down in the pass," said Tad.
"I suppose you can get all you want in here, provided you have themoney to pay for it," smiled Professor Zepplin.
"Oh, we have the price, though I suppose I shall have to pay forChunky. He is broke as usual," laughed Butler.
"He'll be broke worse before he finishes this nice peaceful trip.Don't you say so, Chops?" jeered Ned.
"Yassir," grinned the guide.
"Do you want to write letters, too, Billy?" teased Stacy.
"Yassir, nassir."
"He does and he doesn't," laughed Tad.
"In other words, Chops is on the fence," nodded Rector. "If we aregoing to do business I guess we had better get at it."
"Agreed," answered Tad, striding into the store. There the boys gotpads and pencils, for they had lost their own supply. They alsobought stamps, peanuts and various other things that were eitheruseful or that appealed to their boyish appetites.
Having equipped themselves for writing, the Pony Rider Boys repairedto the porch where they sat down, and with pads on knees began towrite, while the loungers gathered about, eyeing the lads curiously.Others were out at the side of the store, looking over the ponies anddiscussing the party, the like of which perhaps never before had beenseen at Hunt's Corners.
"How do you spell torrent, with one or two r's?" questioned Chunkyafter a few moments of silence, during which the lads had beenwriting industriously.
"Depends upon the size of the torrent," retorted Rector.
"Was that one last night a single or a double r'd one?" inquiredStacy solemnly.
"I reckon it was a double r," laughed Butler. "You are safe in usingtwo of them in this instance."
"Chunky's writing an article for the paper," suggested Waltermischievously.
"That's right. That's just what I am doing and that's where I geteven with you fellows. I can have the last say--"
"Don't you use my name," snapped Ned. "I'm not looking for the kindof newspaper notoriety you would be likely to give a fellow. Youtell them all you want to about Stacy Brown, but leave Ned Rector outof it."
"I have," answered the fat boy significantly.
"That's one for you, Ned," cried Tad. "But I wish you boys wouldkeep quiet. I'm writing to Mother and she'll think something is thematter with me, for I've already written 'torrent' twice where itdidn't belong and next thing I know I'll be putting in some ofChunky's stuff about last night. Do be quiet. If you don't want towrite, go to sleep."
Stacy yawned broadly at the suggestion of sleep. He was ready forsleep at that moment, but his desire to tell the folks at home,through the medium of the weekly paper, through what an excitingexperience the Pony Rider Boys had gone, outweighed all otheremotions.
The boys had written for a half hour or more when suddenly a shotrang out somewhere off to the northwest. The lads glanced upinquiringly. At first they saw nothing of interest. Then a horsemanswung into view, riding at a lively pace. As he drew near he beganfiring into the air from his revolver.
"Whoop!" he roared.
There was a scattering of the loungers. It was plain that they knewthe man. The boys resumed their writing.
"Whoopee! I'm the Bad Man from Smoky Creek! Higher up the creek yougo, the bigg
er they grow, and I'm right off the headwaters!"
"Bang, bang, bang!"
"Turn the coyotes loose! Fer I'm out fer blood and a genwine killing!Whoope-e-e-e!"
"Bang, bang, bang!"
The crack of the six-shooter was almost wholly drowned by the yellsof the fellow, but through all this the Pony Rider Boys wrote on ascalmly as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring, though Stacygave the bad man a glance out of the corners of his eyes now and then.Stacy was ready to run if, perchance, the fellow should turn a gun inhis direction. The lads had met with such characters before, andknew that it was not usually the man who indulged in such loud boastswho was to be feared. Still, it was a nerve-racking situation.
Professor Zepplin and Jim Abs had appeared at the door at the firstsound of the uproar, but they beat a quick retreat when they saw whoand what was the cause of the disturbance.
"Is--is there any danger to the boys?" stammered the Professor.
"Not unless they stir him up. That's Smoky Griffin, one of themeanest bullies in the whole Blue Ridge. Everybody's afraid of himand I reckon they've got good reason fer being afraid. The kidsdon't seem to mind him, do they?" wondered Abs.
"The kids, as you call them, are quite able to take care ofthemselves, even against such a ruffian as that," answered theProfessor, proudly. "I hope he will let them alone. They might makeup their minds not to endure too much imposition."
Smoky now sat in his saddle, reloading his weapon and leering at thecool youngsters on the porch. To find men, to say nothing of boys,who did not fear him, was such a new experience to Smoky that itfairly hurt him. The ruffian had been a neighborhood bully for years,and was wholly accustomed to seeing men flee when he rode into towndischarging his weapons, without any particular concern as to wherethe bullets went. Lack of awe in anyone injured his abundantself-esteem.
Now that his weapons were reloaded, he again emptied them, drivingall of the bullets into the porch posts at a level over the boys'heads.
Still the Pony Rider Boys sat tight, though it must be confessed thatthey were making scant progress with their letter-writing.
Observing this, the bully, with undue deliberation, slid from hissaddle and made his animal fast to the hitching-bar. Then Griffinstrolled up to the porch, and grabbing one of Stacy's feet gave theankle a sharp twist.
"Do that again," drawled Chunky, "and you'll get a kick from thenorthwest. You make a noise like one of those Germans we licked inFrance. Say, why don't you go get a job washing dishes in a lumbercamp or something instead of trying to make folks think you're a man.Go put on an apron, Bo!"
In another instant such things had started as had never before beenseen at Hunt's Corners.