“I guess we’d better defer that job till we grow some more,” they decided, with a laugh.

The next fifteen minutes were fully occupied in cleaning up and putting on their clothes.  They were all thoroughly awake now, with cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling after their violent exercise.  The guide had rather sullenly washed off the wet dust that clung to his face and hands.

“Never mind the clothes, Juan,” advised Ned.  “It’ll brush off as soon as it gets dry.  We’ll take up a contribution to buy you a clothes brush.  Ever see one?”

Juan grinned.

“You promise not to gamble the money away if we give it to you?”

“Si.”

“Shell out, fellows.  Ten cents apiece.  That ought to salve his injured feelings.”

Ned passed the hat, all contributing.

“That makes forty cents.  Here, Professor, you haven’t put in your ten yet.  It’ll take just fifty cents to paste up Juan’s injuries.”

“That reminds me of a fellow I heard about once,” announced Stacy.

“Are you going to tell a story?” questioned Ned.

“If you will keep still long enough,” replied Stacy.

“Then me for the bunch grass.  It’s like going to a funeral to hear Chunky try to tell a story.”

“Let him tell it,” shouted the lads.

“Go on, Chunky.  Never mind Ned.  He’ll laugh when he gets back to
Chillicothe,” jibed Walter.

“I heard of a fellow once—­”

“Yes; you told us that before,” jeered Ned.

“Not the one we ducked in the spring, was it?” grinned Tad.

“Who’s telling this story?” demanded Stacy belligerently.

“You are, I guess.  I won’t interrupt again.”

“Well, did I say this fellow was a boy?”

“No.”

“Well, he was—­ he’s grown up now.  He rushed into a drug store—­”

“Was anything chasing him?” asked Ned innocently.

Stacy gave no heed to the interruption.

“And he said to the man in the store, ’Please, sir, some liniment and some cement?’”

“‘What?’ asked the clerk all in a muddle.  You see, he’d never had a prescription like that to fill before.  It made him tired, ’cause he thought the kid was making fun of him.”

“’What—­ what’s the trouble?  What do you want liniment and cement for?’

“‘Cause,’ said the boy to the pill man, ’’cause mom hit pop on the head with a plate.’”

For a moment there was silence, then the boys roared.  But Ned never smiled.

“Laugh, laugh!  Why don’t you laugh?” urged Walter.

“Laugh?  Huh!  I laughed myself almost sick over that a long time ago.  Read it in an almanac when I was in short trousers.”

“The ponies!  The ponies!” cried Juan, rushing up to them, waving his arms, then running his fingers through his long black hair until it stood up like the quills of a porcupine.

“What!” queried the Pony Rider Boys in sudden alarm.  “What’s the matter with the ponies?”