Despite their attire, there was something in the appearance of the two young men that marked them as belonging to “the tenderfoot breed.” In other words, the experienced eye would have discovered at a glance that they were Easterners.
A cool breeze came down the valley, bearing with it a pleasant odor of wild growing things.
The faces of both lads, lately fresh from college, had been burned and blistered by the hot suns and searing winds.
“It’s remarkable,” said Frank, “that the people at Urmiston know Delores, know he lives somewhere in this vicinity, yet not one of them could give us accurate directions to reach his cabin.”
“Hanged remarkable!” growled Bart. “This is the third day we have spent in hunting for his old place, and we’ve not even found a clue to it.”
Merry nodded, frowning beneath the wide brim of his hat.
“We may have passed and repassed it,” he said. “There are plenty of places where cabins could be hidden in these valleys.”
“That’s right. What are we to do?”
“Keep on hunting.”
“It’s rather tiresome.”