“Sure, we know,” drawled Willie. “You’ve told us at least twenty times.”
“That rare specimen of yours should assay about 1/800ths of a cent to the ton!” Jack teased.
“Anyway, it was fun panning it.”
“Everything at Philmont was fun,” Jack declared.
“Seeing deer, elk, and bear in natural surroundings. Learning how to climb and handle an axe. Instruction in fire building and cooking. But now it’s behind us.”
“And Rocking Horse is ahead,” reminded Mr. Livingston. “Save the arguments, lads. You’ll need your energy for making camp.”
The Scouts took the hint and fell silent. True, everyone would have enjoyed another two weeks in the West, but money was dwindling. So, laden with souvenirs and happy memories, they were now on the way home.
Presently the dusty car pulled into Rocking Horse. The city, with a cluster of adobe houses at the outskirts, appeared to have not more than about eight thousand residents. After inquiry at a filling station, Mr. Livingston drove to a motel and camp site at the city’s northern edge.
Few cars were parked near the tiny office on the roadside. The reason for the comparative desertion was immediately apparent to the Scouts, for the motel buildings were run-down and in need of paint. The pine grove and camp site at the rear did not look too attractive, either.
“How about it, boys?” Mr. Livingston asked doubtfully.