“Everard, old fellow!” he exclaimed, in response to Houston’s greeting, “this is the greatest pleasure I’ve had in many a day. I never dreamed that the Houston of whom Ned wrote such glowing accounts was my old friend.”
“I used to think sometimes,” said Houston, “when Ned was writing you, that I would like to send you some reminder of old times, a college password or signal that you would understand; but at that time, I didn’t know Ned very well, and of course I was anxious to conceal my identity here.”
“That was right,” said the elder Rutherford, with a comical glance at his brother, “Ned is rather injudicious, he belongs to that unfortunate class of people, with the best of intentions, who usually succeed in doing as much mischief as others with the worst.”
“Right you are there,” said Ned, “I’m always putting my foot in it one way or another; I wouldn’t advise anybody to make a confidant of me, I’d give them away sure. I say, Everard,” he continued, while his brother and Van Dorn exchanged cordial greetings, “how are you getting on, and how is the Buncombe-Boomerang combination?”
“We have been very successful so far, everything is nearly in readiness, and the combination as you call it, cannot exist much longer; we will give you full particulars later.”
“And how are the ladies?” Ned inquired further.
“They are well, and waiting to give you and your brother a royal welcome.”
“Thank you,” Morton Rutherford replied, “I am quite anxious to meet them, Ned, of course, can speak for himself.”
“That he can, and generally does when the right time comes,” responded that individual, “you will find I am a universal favorite here, in the camp of the Philistines.”
In a little while they were on their way to camp, Houston and Morton Rutherford occupying the back seat of the light, canopy-top wagon, while Van Dorn and Ned took the forward seat with the driver, the horses and baggage following with one of the mining teams.