Through the open window, which was on the eastern side of the house, a pink glow could be seen in the sky. In a moment, as it seemed, the rim of the sun came into view, and morning had dawned with startling suddenness.
“Oh, thunder!” grumbled Bruce. “The night was not half long enough. I’d like to sleep about five hours longer.”
“That’s natural with you,” chuckled Harry, as he drew on his shoes. “You are always tired.”
“Can’t help it,” admitted the big fellow. “I was born that way. This sporting tour is killing me. How’d we happen to know anything about this cowboy racket, anyway?”
“Oh, I’m onto all that’s going,” smiled Frank.
“That’s right enough,” agreed Bruce; “but you didn’t know a thing about it at noon yesterday, and we were on our way eastward over the Texas and Pacific. None of us expected to stop short of Fort Worth, but, of a sudden, you yank us off the train at Stanton and run us out here to this ranch, without a word of explanation. When we arrive here we are received with open arms and made to feel as if we had been expected. I’ll acknowledge that I don’t understand it.”
“Your eyes were not sharp, old fellow,” said Frank. “Had they been, you would have seen that we were invited here.”
“By whom?”
“The daughter of the man who owns this ranch.”
“Not the girl Miss Burrage met on the train?”