“Good idee,” approved Dolliver. “Put away this here grub, fust thing, then come down to my shack an’ git yore hosses.”
“Did you telephone anything about the mail bags, Dolliver?” asked Lenning.
“Nary a word. I jest kept all that was goin’ on here to myself. You fellers can explain about the mail bags. It’s none o’ my put in.”
There were three happy youngsters who sat at the foot of the bowlder heap that morning and ate the grub Dolliver had brought to them. A cheerful mind is a good appetizer, and the lads were not long in cleaning up the supply of food. After that the mail bags were shouldered, and the return to Dolliver’s was made.
On the way down the cañon the boys acquainted the rancher with many matters of which he had been in ignorance. The story told by Lenning was gone over for his benefit, and struck as hard a blow at his credulity as it had at Merriwell’s and Blunt’s. But recent events had clinched the truth of the yarn, so all Dolliver could do was to believe and marvel.
“Sounds purty far-fetched, an’ that’s a fact,” declared the rancher, “but ye can’t dodge facts, not noways. Everything’s workin’ around purty good fer you, Lenning. I’m glad as blazes that I made up my mind to help ye with that telephonin’ yesterday. There was one spell that I reckoned I hadn’t better have anythin’ ter do with ye; then, when it kinder struck me how Merriwell was yore friend, and that his jedgment was a heap better’n the ordinary run, I jest nat’rally made up my mind ter do what I could.”
“I’m obliged to you, Dolliver,” said Lenning.
“Let it go at that. I’m a rough old propersition, I reckon, but I like ter help a feller when he’s down. An’ you was purty well down, wasn’t ye, when ye stuck yer head in at my door yesterday an’ asked would I send that myster’ous message ter town?”
“I was,” said Lenning, with emphasis.
“So I allowed,” and the chuckle sounded in the rancher’s hairy throat.