"I'll have it rolled down for you the next time, Roger!" cried Phil, gaily. "Just imagine yourself in the wild West, in one of the old-time overland coaches, with the Indians in full pursuit. How about that, Belle?"
"It sounds good enough for a dime novel," answered the girl from the West. "Personally I never saw any Indians in pursuit of a stage-coach or anything else. The Indians around Star Ranch were as peaceable as one could wish."
Over the rough and rather narrow trail bumped the two stage-coaches. Our friends frequently found themselves bounced off the seats, and more than once they were in danger of cracking their heads against the roofs of the turnouts. It was growing dark, and the only lights the drivers had were their smoking lanterns. Inside of the stage-coaches the boys had their hand flashlights, which they used occasionally to illuminate the scene.
"Never mind! Don't you care!" cried Phil, and then added: "What's the matter with a song?"
"Let's give them our old Oak Hall song!" exclaimed Dave, and a moment later he started their old favorite, sung to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne."
"Oak Hall we never shall forget,
No matter where we roam,
It is the very best of schools,
To us it's just like home.
Then give three cheers, and let them ring
Throughout this world so wide,
To let the people know that we
Elect to here abide!"
"Oh, how splendid!" was Belle's comment. "Please sing it again," and they did.
Then they followed with a number of familiar songs. The sound was caught up by those in the second coach, and soon they too were singing lustily.
"Gosh-all-hemlock!" was the comment of the stage-driver of the forward coach. "That there singin' is better'n a nigger minstrels!"
"Better join in," suggested Dave, and then started up with "The Suwanee River," and to the surprise of all the old stage-driver broke in with a heavy bass voice which really balanced the others quite well.