"Wha---what's up?" demanded Ned Rector, straightening in his saddle.

"Nothing's up, except ourselves, and we'll all be down in a minute.
We're going to ford the stream and make camp on the other side."

"Is this the Guadalupe range?" asked Walter Perkins sleepily.

"This is the loop all right, but not the Guadalupe," laughed Rector.
"Hullo, Chunky's in the Land of Nod."

"Wake him up, Ned," nodded Tad.

"Not much. Let him wake himself up."

"His pony has gone to sleep, too," added Walter.

"Yes, they are a couple of sleepy heads, Tad."

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.