"That's the place. What has become of Mr. Hazletine?"
"I think he is over at the fort, and will soon be here. He brought a couple of horses for you to ride. Ah, here he comes now."
The boys saw the man at the same moment. He was walking rapidly from the direction of the fort, and looking curiously at the youths, who surveyed him with interest as he approached. He was full-bearded, tall, and as straight as an arrow, dressed in cowboy costume, and the picture of rugged strength and activity. His manner was that of a man who, having made a mistake as to the hour of the arrival of the train, was doing his best to make up for lost time.
Stepping upon the long, low platform, he walked toward the lads, his Winchester in his left hand, while he extended his right in salutation.
"Howdy?" he said, heartily, as he took the hand of Fred Greenwood, who advanced several paces to meet him. "I reckon you're the younkers I'm waiting for."
"If you are Hank Hazletine, you are the man."
"That's the name I gin'rally go by; which one of you is Jack Dudley?"
"I am," replied that young gentleman.
"Then t'other one is Fred Greenwood, eh?" he asked, turning toward the younger.
"You have our names right."