The Pony Rider Boys added their yells to those of the guide, only with a difference.  The more Juan drank of the spring water, the more did the hot drops burn.

All at once he sprang up and started for the plain.

“Catch him!” commanded the Professor.

With a shout the lads started in pursuit.  They overhauled the guide some twenty rods from camp, he having proved himself fleet of foot.  Then again, the fire within him perhaps helped to increase his natural speed.

“I burn!  I burn!” he wailed as the boys grabbed and laughingly hustled him back to camp.

“You’ll burn worse than that if you ever ask for liquor in this outfit,” retorted Ned.  “We don’t use the stuff, nor do we allow anyone around us who does.”

“How do you feel now?” grinned the Professor as they came up to him with their prisoner.

“He’s got a whole camp-fire in his little estomago,” announced Chunky solemnly, which sally elicited a loud laugh from the boys.

“Give him some olive oil,” directed the Professor.  “I think the lesson has been sufficiently burned into him "

But considerable persuasion was necessary to induce Juan to take a spoonful of the Professor’s medicine.  He had already had one sample of it and he did not want another.  Yet after some urging he tasted of the oil, at first gingerly; then he took it down at a gulp.

“Ah!” he breathed.

“Is it good?” grinned Tad.

“Si.  Much burn, much burn,” he explained, rubbing his stomach.

“Think you want some liquor still, Juan, or would you prefer another dose of my magic drops?”

“No, no, no, señor!” cried Juan, hastily moving away from Professor Zepplin.

“Very well; any time when you feel a longing for strong drink, just help yourself to the hot drops,” said the Professor, striding away to his tent, medicine case in hand.

The guide, a much chastened man, set about assisting in getting the evening meal, but the hot drops still remained with him, making their presence known by occasional hot twinges.

Supper that night was an enjoyable affair, though it was observed that the guide did not eat heartily.

“Do you think he really had a pain?” asked Walter confidentially, leaning toward Ned.

“Pain?  No.  He wanted something else.”

“And he got it,” added Stacy, nodding solemnly.

A chorus of “he dids” ran around the table, stopping only when they reached Juan himself.

CHAPTER III

 Indians!

“Juan, did you see two men get off the train at Bluewater yesterday when we did?  One of them had a big, broad sombrero like mine?” asked Tad, riding up beside the guide next day while they were crossing the range.

“Si.”

“Know them?”

“Si,” he replied, holding up one finger.

“You mean you know one of them?”