The Pony Rider Boys on the Blue Ridge; or, A Lucky Find in the Carolina Mountains

by Frank Gee Patchin

  CHAPTER I

  THE CAMP IN SMOKY PASS

  "Now let the flies, the hornets, the fleas and the doodle bugs comeand do their worst," declared Tad Butler, standing off to take a lookat the tent he had just finished pitching.

  "No doodle bugs in mine, if you please," answered Stacy Brown.

  "Nor mine," added Ned Rector and Walter Perkins in chorus.

  "How about you, Chops? Do you like bugs?" questioned Tad, giving theguide a mischievous glance.

  "Yassir."

  "You do?"

  "Yassir. Nassir."

  "Well, which is it?"

  "Nassir."

  "I thought not," nodded Tad. "Chops doesn't always know what he doeswant."

  "Yassir."

  "I reckon we'll have to give him a few lessons," suggested ChunkyBrown with a grin.

  "Yassir," replied Chops, regarding Chunky with large eyes.

  "So long as you are willing, there seems to be nothing more to besaid at the present sitting," observed Ned Rector.

  "You're a cheerful idiot, aren't you, Chops?" persisted Stacy.

  "Yassir."

  "Isn't it fine to have a guide who agrees with everything you say?"scoffed Ned. "I'm afraid we're going to have a quiet time of it downhere in the Blue Ridge with a guide who won't oppose you, not a personto fight you, not even an animal to do battle with," mourned Ned.

  "I guess you will find animals enough when we get in farther,"answered Tad with a laugh.

  "What kind?" demanded Ned, instantly on the alert.

  "Deer, bear and mountain lion."

  "I--I caught a mountain lion up in the Grand Canyon," interposedChunky.

  "Yes, we know all about that."

  "We certainly do, don't we, Chunky?" laughed Tad.

  "I reckon if we don't, no one does," finished Chunky, directing alook of inquiry at the guide.

  "Yassir," agreed Chops, grinning broadly.

  "Chops," it may be well to explain, was not only colored, but he wasblack as a piece of ebony, which, however, did not account for hispeculiar nickname. Chops's right name was Billy Veal. The boysseized upon this to call him Veal Chops, which after a few hours waschanged to the short form, or "Chops." And Chops, Billy would remainas long as he traveled the Blue Ridge in the company of thesefun-loving young fellows.

  Chops's lips were red and his mouth looked like an angry gash, whilethe eyes at times appeared to be all whites.

  Professor Zepplin had attached Chops to his party at Asheville. Thecolored man had been recommended as an excellent guide, one who knewevery foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains and their various branches.Besides this, the Professor's informant said that Billy Veal was asplendid cook, a useful man about the stock, and possessing numerousother qualifications. What the informant did not say was that, whileBilly may have known how to do all these things, he was loath to doanything that might be construed as work. Besides this, his appetitewas greater than Stacy Brown's, which was saying a great deal forBilly. Veal's appetite was, in fact, assuming alarming proportions.The party feared that they should not be able to keep themselvessupplied with food unless something were done to check the growingappetite of the guide and all-around man.

  The Professor was looking on admiringly as Tad finished pitching thetents, Veal watching the work with wide, white eyes. Stacy took apiece of hardtack which he tossed to the waiting colored man, andthe hardtack instantly went into Chops's mouth. For a second itpuffed out his cheek, then disappeared down his throat whole, as theguide gave a convulsive gulp.

  Stacy Brown regarded the fellow admiringly.

  "Goodness gracious! I wish I could stow away food like that. Didyou ever eat on a wager, Chops?"

  "Yassir."

  "What did you do?"

  "I done et six pies while de clock was strikin' twelve, sah."

  "Six pies?" marveled the fat boy.

  "Yassir."

  "Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha! You must have been a regular turn-over."

  "Yassir."

  "Were you full?" asked Tad.

  "Nassir. I could hab done et some more."

  "Chunky, you ought to take lessons from Chops. He might give yousome valuable pointers," suggested Tad laughingly.

  "I reckon he could at that," agreed the fat boy. "If I could eat sixpies all at once, without having to send for the doctor, I'd think Iwas some pumpkins."

  "Especially if you had been eating pumpkin pies, eh?" chuckled TadButler.

  "Tad, I like your tent arrangement first rate," complimentedProfessor Zepplin surveying the little white canvas tents that wereranged in a semicircle about the campfire, all opening to the fire."I am inclined to think, too, that you have an invention worth whilein what we have named the 'Butler Lean-to.' I am sure others willrecognize the value of it and that it will come into quite generaluse."

  "Thank you. I shall be glad if others find it useful. However, wehave not tried it out. We'll see how it works with us during thisjourney through the Blue Ridge," answered Tad.

  Tad Butler's tent was an ingenious little affair. It weighed justfive pounds, and when packed, it folded into a neat little packagefive inches thick by ten by fourteen inches. One might carry it onhis back without discomfort.

  To put up such a tent you cut three slender saplings of about tenfeet long, slip one down the ridge of the tent and out through a holein the back. Shove the end of this pole into the ground, cross andspread the other two poles, and tie the three together at the upperends. Next raise the ridge-pole by sticking the other two into theground to make a triangle. Peg down the sides, tie out the frontpoles at the grommets, and your tent is ready for occupancy, havingtaken not more than seven or eight minutes in the putting up. Afterfinishing, the tent makes a peculiar appearance, being about two feetwide at the rear, by a full eight feet at the front. The rear of thetent is used for the storing of equipment or "duffle" as the campercalls it.

  Tad arranged two beds in his tent, leaving the others to fix theirown as suited their individual tastes. The beds were made by firstclearing away the ground, then piling in hemlock boughs fully threefeet deep. Over this was placed the sleeping bag, and no softer bedever held a tired camper. The bed had also the merit of raising onefrom the ground, out of the water, provided there should be rain inthe night.

  The others of this party of young explorers were satisfied to dumptheir sleeping bags on the ground, though the Professor did make abed for himself, which, while not so practical as Tad's, served hispurpose almost equally well.

  "You fellows had better get yourselves off the ground, for we aregoing to have a storm tonight," advised Butler. "Walter is sleepingin my tent, but the rest of you look out. Don't you think it's goingto storm, Chops?"

  "Yassir."

  "I don't think it's going to storm, do you, Chops?" asked Stacy.

  "Nassir."

  "There you are," declared the fat boy. "You pay your money and youtake your choice. It is going to storm, and it isn't going to storm.You'd make a fine thermometer, Chops. Why, you'd have everybodycrazy with the heat and the cold all at the same time."

  The camp had been pitched in the narrow Smoky Pass of the Blue Ridgethrough which flowed a tributary of the French Broad River. Thestream was very shallow at this time of the year, there having beenbut few rains, and its course was marked mostly by white sand andsmoothly worn rocks, with here and there along the borders of thewater course little colonies of the white, pink-petaled trilliumgently nodding their heads at the ends of their long, slender stems.

  The pass was silent save for the soft murmur of the stream and thesongs of birds farther up the rocky sides in the dense foliage. Itwas an ideal camping place in a dry spell, but not any too desirablein times of high water.

  Billy Veal had declared that it offered a perfectly easy routethrough to the Black Mountain spur for which the party was heading.Billy knew the mountains very well. The boys were obliged to admitthat, but the difficulty was to find out what he did know, for he
wasas likely to say one thing as another. They had decided that thebest plan would be to tell him where they wanted to go, leaving himto do the rest. The more questions they asked the less they knew.

  "Did you ever see a ghost, Chops?" asked Stacy after they had settleddown for an evening's enjoyment.

  "Nassir. Yassir," answered the colored man, his eyes growing large.

  "I'll show you a ghost some time. Would you like to be introduced toa ghost?" persisted Stacy.

  "Yassir. Nassir. Doan' want see no ghosts."

  "Then why don't you say so?"

  "Yassir."

  "Say what you mean," ordered the fat boy sternly. "Don't beat aroundthe bush. You'll be getting yourself into a pickle first thing youknow, for--"

  "Billy! We are waiting for you to get the supper," warned theProfessor severely. "You should have had it well started beforethis."

  "Yassir," answered Chops, grinning broadly.

  "You forgot something, Chops," reminded Stacy.

  "Yassir?"

  "No, nassir," jeered the fat boy.

  "Stacy, be good enough to go away from the guide. You areinterfering with his duties," rebuked the Professor.

  "Nassir. Yassir," mocked the fat boy with a grin almost as broad asBilly Veal's.

  They sat down to supper soon after that and all hands agreed that itwas an excellent meal. What appealed to their appetites most werethe waffles, real old southern waffles, the kind that mother didn'tmake. A jug of molasses was produced as a surprise. Such a feastthe boys had not had within memory. Cool, sparkling water was athand. One had but to step to the stream and dip it up, but it wasthe waffles that put pretty much everything else out of mind.

  "Why, Billy, I didn't know that you brought syrup," glowed theProfessor, now in high good humor.

  "Yassir."

  "Well, well! This is indeed a surprise, my man."

  "I am thankful that he is at last making an effort to earn hiswages," muttered Tad Butler. "Thus far he hasn't done much in thatdirection."

  "You must admit that he has guided us pretty well," defended WalterPerkins.

  "You mean we have guided ourselves," differed Ned Rector. "Anybodycould follow this hollow; in fact, one couldn't get out of it untilhe got to the end--that is, unless he had wings--unless he was abird."

  "That's Chops," declared Stacy.

  "What do you mean?" demanded Ned, turning to the fat boy.

  "I mean he is a bird. Must I explain everything to you? If youinsist I will draw a picture of a bird and--"

  "That will do, Stacy," rebuked Ned.

  "Yassir," mimicked Stacy, whereat the boys burst out laughing. Therewas no resisting Stacy Brown's droll way of saying things. Stacy wasa natural comedian, but whether or not he was aware of this, none buthimself knew.

  There were no waffles left when the boys finished their supper. Theclouds had been gathering all the afternoon, and just as they satback for a comfortable chat on full stomachs, little spatters of raingave promise of a wet night.

  "You see," reminded Tad, nodding to his companions and glancing up tothe sky.

  "We don't see much, but we feel. I guess you were right at that,Tad," agreed Ned Rector.

  "Tad's always right when he isn't wrong," observed Stacy solemnly.

  "And you are usually wrong when you are not right," retorted Butlerquickly.

  "Laying all levity aside, I wish to ask if you young men know whereyou are," interrupted the Professor.

  "Yassir," answered Stacy promptly.

  "I suppose we are in the Smoky Pass of the Blue Ridge Mountains inNorth Carolina, sir," replied Tad.

  "Exactly. But there are some features about the Blue Ridge which youyoung gentlemen possibly are not familiar with. For your benefit Iwill give you a brief talk on this somewhat unfamiliar range ofmountains. Ahem! The Blue Ridge is the most easterly range of theAppalachian mountain system. I presume you are unaware that itactually has its beginning at West Point on the Hudson River, whenceso many fine young officers went out to fight for their country inthe great World War. Am I right in thus supposing?" The Professorglared about him fiercely.

  "You win," muttered Stacy.

  "It is the fact. The Blue Ridge forms an almost continuous chainfrom that point down to the north of Alabama. The range makes itsway through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Virginia and the Carolinas.The Blue Ridge proper is that part of the range below Pennsylvaniawhich separates the Great Valley from the Piedmont region. In southVirginia the range widens into a broad plateau which reaches itswidest extent in the state where we now are."

  "Yassir," murmured Stacy Brown.

  The boys pretended not to have heard the interruption, but theProfessor fixed a stern eye on Stacy, and then resumed his lecture.

  "In this state, North Carolina," he said, "the range is intersectedby numerous groups, such as the Black, the South and the like, somereaching several thousand feet in height. We shall soon be in a spurof the Black Mountains."

  "I fear we shall have to find a new guide if we ever get anywhere,Professor," spoke up Tad.

  "I am of the opinion that he has done very well. Did he not surpriseus with waffles and syrup?" demanded Professor Zepplin.

  "He did," agreed the boys.

  "On the other hand," added Tad, "our grub is disappearing mostmysteriously. I am sure Chunky couldn't eat so much more than therest of us. Our flour is nearly all gone, though we haven't been outa week. It is almost unbelievable. All the biscuit we brought alonghave disappeared."

  "And those cookies we got in Asheville," mourned Stacy. "I wasfiguring on having cookies all the way across the mountains. NowI'll have to eat hard-tack and biscuit."

  "So long as you don't have to eat salt horse, you ought to consideryourself lucky," retorted Rector.

  "As I was about to say when interrupted," continued Professor Zepplin,"the Black Mountains lie in Buncombe and Yancy counties--"

  "Does Chops come from Buncombe?" interrupted Stacy.

  "Again I say, they form a spur of the Blue Ridge," resumed theProfessor unheeding the interruption, "and are a part of theAppalachian system. They lie between the French Broad River and itsmain tributary, the Nolichucky."

  "Is this the Trolleychucky here at our feet, Professor?" questionedChunky innocently.

  Tad gave the fat boy a prod with the toe of his boot, whereat Stacyturned an indignant face to him.

  "Mount Mitchell, Black Dome, Guyot's Peak, Sandoz Knob and Gibbe'sPeak, including Smoky Bald and others, form the divide between theTennessee and Catawba River basins. That, for the present, will bequite sufficient for the topography of the country. As you are nodoubt aware, most of the rocks through this region are highlycrystalline, but whether of paleozoic or azoic age, is not certain,"concluded the Professor.

  "Yassir," murmured the fat boy. Chops had been listening with wideopen mouth and eyes, not understanding a word of what had been said,but being sure it was something of tremendous importance because hecould not understand.

  "Here comes the storm," cried Tad as a vivid sheet of lightningflashed up the pass, followed by a deafening peal of thunder.

  Almost instantly the rain began to fall, and the boys scrambled fortheir tents, while Chops, wrapping himself in a blanket, crouched infront of the fire. From their tents the lads could talk to eachother, the openings of the tents being close to the fire itself.They continued their conversation from the tents. By this time therain was roaring on the canvas in a perfect torrent.

  "It's going to be a good night to sleep," called Ned.

  "I am not so sure of that," answered Tad Butler.

  "I reckon it'll be a fine night for ducks," observed Chunky.

  "Young man, that is not seemly language," rebuked the Professor.

  "It's the truth. Isn't truth seemly?" demanded Stacy.

  "You are evading the question."

  "I beg your pardon, I'm not. I am bumping right up against it,"retorted the fat boy, amid smothered laughter.r />
  The roar of the storm soon made the boys sleepy, and a few minuteslater the last of the party, except Tad, had turned in. Butlerwatched the storm for an hour, listening thoughtfully to the riverand the rain.

  "It is my opinion that we'll be having trouble before morning," hemuttered as he threw himself down on his bed of boughs. He did notremove his clothes, as had the others, in which perhaps Tad Butlerwas wise.

  Once more the Pony Rider Boys were well started on their summer'sride, led by Professor Zepplin, the tutor who had accompanied them onso many happy adventures in the saddle on their summer outings. TheProfessor, who, in spite of his sternness, was as much a boy as hischarges, took a secret delight in their pranks and their noisy chatter.

  Following their lively adventures in other fields, they had electedto explore the apparently more peaceful territory of the Blue RidgeMountains. In fact, the Pony Rider Boys did not look forward toadventures here, but in this they were destined to be considerablysurprised.

  The Pony Rider party had made camp in a narrow spot in what was knownas Smoky Pass, and were now facing a storm which Tad Butler believedpromised to be a severe one. Nor in this belief was Tad one whitoutside of the truth, for, as he listened, the storm steadilyincreased in fury. The present center of the rising storm appearedto be to the eastward of their camp, and already the ordinarily smallstream at their feet was muttering ominously. Its waters, sparklingclear an hour before, were now muddy and swollen. Tad's observant"weather eye" also noted that the stream was full of drift andtorn-off foliage.

  Billy Veal, the guide, he observed, stood wide-eyed and shiveringjust beyond the fire, for Billy was wet, and he was afraid.

  "Come in here," ordered Tad, and Billy obeyed with evident reluctance.

  "Do you know of any place hereabouts where we might climb up the sideof the pass?" Tad demanded.

  "Yassir, nassir," chattered Veal.

  "Well, which is it?" insisted Butler sharply.

  "Nassir."

  "Humph! Then, if we wanted to get out of this pass, and couldneither go up nor downstream, what would you do, Billy?"

  "Ah reckons Ah'd stay heah, sah."

  "Pshaw!" grunted Tad disgustedly. Trying to wring information fromBilly was far from satisfying. "Sit down in here where you can keepdry, and if the storm gets much worse let me know. I am going toturn in and get some sleep." Tad, who had risen to have a look atthe weather, threw himself down again, for he was tired and sleepy.

  The campground was very low, and, were the creek to rise much aboveits present channel, Butler knew that his party would come in for afine wetting. However, this was not greatly disturbing to him,though he did not exactly like the idea of being shut up in thatwalled-in pass with no way of getting out save by following thestream either up or down. Tad quickly went to sleep and slumbered onunmindful of the roar of the storm. He was disturbed some three hourslater by howls from the tent occupied by Stacy Brown.

  "Oh, wow!" yelled the fat boy.

  Tad Butler, like every other member of the party, was awakened byStacy's yell. Chops sat shivering and regarding him apprehensively.He had never before heard Chunky howl, and the howl was terrifying tohim.

  "Go and see what is the matter with Mr. Brown," directed Tad.

  Stacy's howls broke forth afresh.

  "Hey! Stop that. What's the matter?" shouted Tad.

  "I'm all afloat. I'm soused from head to foot," came the reply.

  "Save you the trouble of taking a bath," answered Butler.

  "I'll drown," wailed Stacy.

  "Oh, stop it and get a boat," urged Ned Rector's voice.

  "Why didn't you pile in hemlock boughs, as I told you to do, then youwouldn't have got wet," rebuked Tad. "Are you lying in the water?"

  "Yes. What'll I do?"

  "You'll get wetter, so far as I am able to see."

  About this time Professor Zepplin in his pajamas was charging out ofhis tent. He was drenched in a second.

  "Guide, isn't there a higher and drier place that we can get to?"demanded the Professor.

  "Yassir. Nassir."

  "We are in a pocket, Professor. We'll have to take our medicine,"called Tad.

  "I don't like my medicine so cold," wailed the fat boy.

  "All hands had better dress," advised Butler. "I think we are aboutto experience some trouble."

  "What do you think?" questioned the Professor.

  "I think we are in for a ducking."

  Tad put on a rubber coat, and pulling his hat well down, stepped out.By this time there was no fire. It had been drowned out, and thenight was black. He could not see a thing, but the ominous roar ofthe creek was close at hand.

  The boy went back to his tent and got a lantern. Emerging with this,a grim smile settled on the Pony Rider Boy's face as he surveyed thescene. The waters from the stream were swirling and eddying aboutthe bases of the tents; the stream had left its former channel andpretty much all the former dry ground was covered with a thin coatingof water. Professor Zepplin glanced about apprehensively.

  "This looks serious," he observed.

  "It does," agreed Tad.

  "But what are we going to do?"

  "I think we had better break camp and try to make our way out of thiswhile we may," replied Tad. "The horses already are standing inwater above their fetlocks. They'll be in it up to their bodiessoon, at the present rate of rise."

  "What does the guide say?" demanded Professor Zepplin.

  "The guide isn't saying anything. Chops is too frightened to talk.Shall I give the orders, sir?" asked Butler.

  "Yes, if you think best, Tad. Your judgment in these matters I haveusually found to be sound."

  "Turn out, fellows! Turn out in a hurry, too, unless you prefer totake a long swim. Saddle the ponies, Chops. Move!" urged Tadsharply.

  The Pony Rider camp was instantly turned into a scene of activity.The boys knew from Tad's tone that the situation was alarming, andthey lost no time in getting into their wet clothes, Chunky chatteringlike a magpie, Chops rolling his eyes as if he were about to go into afit, and the faces of the other boys showing more than ordinaryconcern.

  The situation was critical, even more so than Tad Butler thought, butwhich he, with the others, was soon to realize.