The first thing done after a general exchange of congratulations was on the part of the new arrivals. They made haste to the spring of cool, refreshing water, where they quaffed their fill, their ponies doing the same.
Rickard had made preparations for their coming. From his storehouse of meal and meat he had prepared a nourishing and abundant meal for all. Since there was no grass within the building, the horses were fed with the grain, of which there was sufficient to last several weeks by the exercise of frugality.
The animals having been attended to and the hunger and thirst of the guests being satisfied, the company gathered in the small room where Eph Bozeman had held his interview of the night before. They crowded the place, but all found seats, and they conversed as freely as if they had been friends for years.
“I made a bad break,” said Rickard, with a laugh; “you’ll admit that I worked that plan pretty well, but I didn’t count on the boy giving me the slip at the last minute.”
“Where do you suppose he has gone?” asked Strubell, who did most of the talking for his side, the others listening attentively to every word that was spoken.
“He must have been on the watch when Eph come in; we were all three in this room, talking the matter over, when he slipped out with his pony and has gone, who can say where?”
“It doesn’t look as if the Apaches had caught him.”
“No; I thought they might have done so, but there would have been an outcry if that took place. We wouldn’t have heard the sound of his horse as he rode off, but he would have used his rifle and pistol before allowing himself to be taken, and we must have heard them. He was the pluckiest fellow I ever saw.”
“That’s so,” added Herbert; “Nick Ribsam was a brave boy; he gave me the biggest trouncing I ever had when he wasn’t more than half my size, and there’s no Indian that can down him without having the worst fight of his life.”