“Mine’s a letter from mother,” Jerry remarked, as he recognized his parent’s handwriting. Mrs. Hopkins was a widow.
“Mine’s from dad—short and to the point,” chuckled Bob. “He says he reckons I took so much time to eat that I missed connections and couldn’t arrive on time. They’ll be here again next week, though.”
“That’s what my father says,” sighed Ned. “Well, it’s a disappointment,” he went on, turning over the paper in his hand, “especially as I did need that money.”
“Maybe he left some for you with the hotel clerk,” suggested Bob. “Ask, and, if he didn’t, I can lend you some.”
“Thanks,” returned Ned. “I’ll ask.”
The hotel clerk was apologetic enough, but, unfortunately, no money had been left for any of the boys. Ned turned away, disappointment showing on his face. As he was debating with himself what was best to do he saw, on the floor, half concealed by a time-table rack near the front desk, a folded paper.
Half mechanically, he picked it up, unfolded it and, as he glanced over the first few lines of writing, uttered an exclamation of surprise.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Jerry. “Did you find some money after all?”
“Not quite as good as that,” was Ned’s answer. “This seems to be a letter to my father from his ranch foreman. Dad must have dropped it from his pocket when he was standing here paying his bill. And it’s got some news in it, fellows! Listen to this!
“Rustlers have been stealing cattle from the ranch, and the foreman suggests that dad come out in a hurry, or else send someone, to take quick action, as they haven’t been able to get the thieves. This is bad business sure enough!” and Ned’s face took on a serious look.