“I’m glad you didn’t run off with Blunt,” said Ballard, after a moment, “for that would have knocked our trip to the gulch in the head. We’re going?”
“Yes,” Frank nodded. “Early in the morning we’ll ride for the gulch.”
“Hooray!” jubilated Clancy. “What you need, Chip, is a little outdoor exercise—a little of the summer ozone which we’re getting, in this part of the country, in the middle of November. Let’s make the most of it. When we leave southern Arizona, we’ll probably land somewhere in the ice and snow.”
The boys saw little of Mrs. Boorland until evening. At supper, she came down from her room and Frank introduced her to Professor Borrodaile, who was tutoring the three lads, getting his health back in the splendid climate, and incidentally waiting to claim the half of fifty thousand dollars, which he and Mrs. Boorland were to receive for the mining claim.
The more the lads saw of the little old lady the more they liked her. It was plain that she was all wrapped up in Barzy Blunt; and that, when she got through with her half of the fifty thousand, it would be passed on to Barzy. Nor would this be long, Merriwell thought, as he saw how frail and worn she was through years of misfortune.
Frank and his chums were in bed early, that night, and next morning they were up and on the road to the gulch before either Mrs. Boorland or the professor was stirring.
It was a crisp, bright morning. The air, pure and clean from the wide deserts, acted like a tonic. Ballard, in spite of himself, burst into song, and Clancy had a time of it smothering the ragtime airs that Ballard insisted on trying to sing.
The trail was wide and fine for the fifteen miles that lay between Ophir and Dolliver’s. Dolliver, the ranchman, was well known to the boys.
“What d’you reckon,” he asked of the boys, as they halted to water their mounts, “Lenning and that white-faced feller trailin’ along with him is doin’ in these parts?”
The boys were startled.