The train pulled out of the station, and the party crossed the footbridge to the adobe building.
In front of the building stood two light platform wagons, to each of which were attached two of those diminutive broncho ponies whose endurance has so many surprises.
These were the stages of Ramon Griego & Co.
Curiously enough, the firm with this imposing name was composed of two Mexican boys, who were brothers, and who carried a long star route into the mountains, gathering and delivering mail pouches at a number of little settlements on the way.
Ramon proved to be a bright, well-dressed young man, and could speak English fluently, a fact worthy of note in a land where the inhabitants of the isolated hamlets are three hundred years behind the times.
He had been expecting a large number of passengers, and was prepared for them.
Frank’s party took up one entire wagon, and it was a big load for the little bronchos. If Frank had not known what sort of stuff there was in the little animals, he might have hesitated about starting out with a wagon load of twelve persons, to say nothing of several mail pouches.
The driver, a Mexican lad, occupied a seat with Toots. He cracked his long whip and uttered a yell. The little bronchos started slowly, broke into a run, and away they went, with the boys waving their hats and cheering, while Inza fluttered her handkerchief to the Mexican postmaster, who was standing in the open doorway.
The first turn of the road around a jutting rock hid the railroad from view, and it seemed that the party immediately plunged one hundred years into antiquity.
Each seat was wide enough for three ordinary persons, but Hans had been determined to secure a position beside Miss Abigail, and had succeeded, much to the old maid’s discomfort. The Dutch boy looked supremely satisfied with himself, and it was plain he thought he was making progress.