Boo-oo-oo-ng! boo-oo-oo-ng!
“Wek up, chilluns!” gurgled the colored boy. “De crack ob doom hab come, an’ ole Gabrul am tootin’ ob his horn fo’ suah!”
“Shimminy Gristmas!” grunted Hans, as he sat up. “Vos dot a Dexas cyclones vot you hear?”
“Gol darned if it don’t saound like a kaow bellein’!” said Ephraim Gallup; “only a heap laouder.”
“Is it a stameboat we’re on, Oi dunno!” murmured Barney, sleepily. “It’s th’ foghorn Oi hear.”
Rap! rap! rap! Rapp-er-ty-bang!
Some one was hammering on the door, and a voice called:
“Turn out—turn out for breakfast!”
“That was the breakfast horn, boys!” laughed Frank. “We must get a hustle on, for this is the day of the great tournament on Rodney’s Ranch, and we are here for sport. Ye have been promised dead loads of fun. Up, fellows—up!”
The boys scrambled to their feet. None of them had fully undressed, and they had been sleeping in blankets spread on the floor of a large room in the ranch house.