“What with?”
“With what they sail by yere in,” drawled the puncher.
“Huh? what’s eatin’ on you, Bud? Old Bill ain’t bought an airship, has he?”
“Mighty nigh as bad,” chuckled the other. “He’s bought Doosenberry’s big automobile, I understand, and Jane Ann’s brought a bunch of folks with her that she met down East, and they’re just about goin’ to tear the vitals out o’ Silver Ranch—now you hear me!”
“A steam wagon over these trails!” grunted the storekeeper. “Waal!”
“And wait till Old Bill sees a bunch of his steers go up in the air when they sets eyes on the choo-choo wagon,” chuckled Bud. “That’ll about finish the automobile business, I bet yuh!”
“Come on, Bud!” shouted his mate, already astride his pony.
The two cowboys were off and lashing their ponies to a sharp run in half a minute. Scarcely had they disappeared behind a grove of scrub trees on the wind-swept ridge beyond the store when the honk of an automobile horn startled the slow-motioned storekeeper out of his chair.
A balloon of dust appeared far down the trail. Out of this there shot the long hood of a heavy touring car, which came chugging up the rise making almost as much noise as a steam roller. Lem Dickson shuffled to the door of the store and stuck his head within.
“Sally!” he bawled. “Sally!”