As the lads turned to gaze at the fat boy, they could not repress a shout of laughter.  Stacy Brown’s pony now stood the picture of dejection, its nose clear to the ground.  Chunky had settled in his saddle until it seemed that the boy was less than half his natural height.  His body had fairly telescoped itself.  The fat boy sat leaning forward, his sombrero tipped forward until it covered his face, leaving only the point of the chin exposed.

By this time Professor Zepplin had driven his own pony into the creek, the others following, where the horses drank greedily.  Stacy and his mount were still on the bank, too sound asleep to think of either water or food.

“Stacy!” shouted the professor.

“Oh let him sleep,” begged the boys.

“Too bad to disturb his infantile slumbers,” jeered Ned Rector.

“But he will fall off.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” laughed Tad.  “Gid-ap!”

The ponies climbed the opposite bank, the tired Pony Riders throwing themselves off and quickly stripping the equipment from their mounts.  They then led the animals farther into the bushes, where the ponies were tethered until they should be wanted again.

Chunky still slumbered on.

In the meantime Tad was carrying water from the creek, while the other two boys were starting a fire on the bank, the smoke from which was already curling up lazily into the still, hot air.  But not much of a meal was cooked.  It was too hot to eat or to cook.  The boys sat down to their little meal, almost choking with laughter every time they glanced across the stream toward the sleeping pony and its sleeping rider.

“Most remarkable,” nodded the professor.  “Surely the smell of food ought to awaken him if nothing else does.”

“He’s just as much of a sleeper as he is an eater, Professor,” declared Rector.

“That would be impossible,” objected Tad.  “As an eater he is a champion, as a sleeper he is just above the average.  You’re the champion sleeper of this outfit, Ned.”

“It’s too hot to resent your unseemly remarks, Tad.  I’ll take that matter up when we get to the mountains.  By the way, how much farther is it to the mountains?”

“Just as far as it was this morning.  How about it, Professor?”

“We ought to reach them this afternoon.  According to my understanding, we were a little more than forty miles from them this morning.  Since then we have gone a good twentyfive miles.”

“Then we will camp there to-night?” questioned Walter.

“Yes, I hope so.”

“What are we going to do about Chunky?” demanded Walter.

All eyes were directed toward the sleeping fat boy and his slumbering pony.  The latter was now beginning to show some signs of life.  It had lifted one foot, then another, until it had taken two steps toward the creek.  But the rider was as soundly asleep as before.  Nothing seemed to disturb Chunky when he was having a nap.