slender, fair haired and smiling, despite the discomfort his red face
showed him to be suffering. Still back of them rode three other young
men, the last in the line being a disconsolate fat figure of a boy who
slouched from side to side in his saddle, each lurch threatening to
precipitate him to the ground. The boy's pony was dragging along
with nose close to the earth, the bridle rein slipping lower and lower
over the animal's neck. The fat boy was plainly asleep. He had been
slumbering in the saddle for more than an hour, and occasional
mutterings indicated that he was dreaming.

"Professor, don't you think we had better make camp and take a rest?"
asked the first boy in the line, addressing the grizzled leader.

Professor Zepplin cast a critical glance down the line of jaded horses
and riders, a faint smile twitching the corners of his mouth.

"All tired out, eh, Tad?" he questioned.

"Yes, I'll confess that I am for once. Of course I can stand it as
long as the next one, but there's no use in wearing out the stock,"
answered Tad Butler. "Chunky's asleep. Ned and Walter will be in a
few minutes more."

"Very good; call a halt. We will ride into the bushes over there on
the other side of the stream. The water cannot be deep. Some hot
coffee will wake us all up."

"Hoo---oo!" cried Tad, interrupting the professor. "Wake up, fellows,
and make camp!"