I've never been taught. What I know I've had to pick up. Nobody
ever tries to teach me anything."
Scolding, joking, having all manner of sport with one another, the Pony
Rider Boys finally completed their tasks. The ponies were loaded, the
pack pony was piled high so that its head and legs were about the only
parts of its anatomy visible, and the boys climbed into their saddles,
Tad first having given the trail map a brief scrutiny.
They started off up the canyon. For a little way the trail appeared
to be no trail at all. The ponies threshed through the bushes, the
sharp limbs smiting the riders in the faces, making disagreeable
traveling. But the young men were used to this sort of thing. They
did not appear to mind it at all.
Reaching a higher altitude they found the trail to be fairly good.
From there they got a good view of the yellow plains below, that
stretch away many miles to the northward. To the southwest, peaks
that they judged must be all of four or five thousand feet high,
towered blue and hazy in the yellow light. Birds were singing, the
air was soft and balmy and a gentle breeze stirred the foliage about
them lazily.
"This is what I call fine," cried Tad.
"Good place for a nap," agreed Chunky.
"Are you in need of sleep?" asked the professor.
"I'm in a trance, sir."
"You always are," laughed Tad Butler. "I think we had better take a
rest here.
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