As it came to a stop, under the application of the brake, after rolling over the ground toward the semicircle of amazed cowboys, the three lads leaped out, snatching from their heads the leather and steel helmets.
“Well—I’m—I’m—lassoed!” gasped the foreman.
“Just what I thought!” chuckled Gimp.
“It’s them!” murmured the Parson.
“Huh!” was all that Hinkee Dee uttered.
“We didn’t find ’em,” announced Jerry, stepping forward, and his tone was as casual as though he had announced his lack of success in looking for some lost chickens.
“Find ’em? Find who?” the foreman asked sharply.
“The cattle thieves,” went on Jerry with a smile. “We had an idea that they might have gone up in a balloon, seeing they didn’t leave any tracks anywhere. But they’re not up in the clouds.”
“Do you boys—do you mean to say you’ve been up there?” and Dick Watson pointed toward the blue sky.
“Well, not exactly all the way up,” was the answer. “But we hit about five thousand feet, just for a practice spin.”