long. It’s being run by an uncle named Fred Comstock, and our pard has a sorter idea that it’s more profitable to Uncle Fred than to him. So he thinks he’d better take a jaunt up that way unbeknown to all parties, and see for himself. And Donald, when he starts there’ll be three of us in the bunch, won’t there?”
“Sure thing, Billie. You don’t think we’d go and let our right-hand bower trail away off like that alone. Look at him smile when he hears me say that. Adrian knows we’ll stick as close to him as a burr, don’t you now, old fellow?”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear you talk that way, boys,” replied the third member of the little group standing on a rocky height, from which a very fine view could be had of that mountainous mining section of Arizona; and the presence of three spirited cow ponies near by told just how the boys, who were in range costume, must have come there.
For the benefit of those who have not had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of these wide-awake lads in previous stories of this Series, a minute or two might profitably be taken up here and now in telling a little about them, so that something of their character and aims may be understood.
Donald Mackay was the son of a ranchman who not only owned a vast tract of land in the Far Southwest range country, but had interests in mines
as well. Adrian Sherwood was his chum, and had been for a long time back; while the fat chap, whose rosy and freckled face seemed bubbling with good humor most of the time, had not been out in this wild region many moons.
In fact, being Donald’s cousin, and a Southern boy by birth, though his folks now lived in the North, Billie had been sent down on a year’s visit to the cattle country for the sake of his health!
To look at him no one would suspect that this was in any degree imperiled; for he was terribly stout, and at times fairly waddled; but that was the trouble; and it was hoped that the free life of the range, with all sorts of hard riding, and kindred sports, would not only reduce his girth, but harden his flabby muscles.
Already Billie was another boy. He had lost twenty pounds, so he claimed, and called himself as “hard as nails,” whatever that might mean. Certain it was that he could ride in a manner that astonished those who were liable to secretly sneer at his clumsy appearance; and as for pluck and endurance, why Billie was as stubborn as an army mule, once he set out to accomplish anything.
At first he had ridden a demure old nag named Maudie, that was always trailing so far behind those mounts of his comrades Wireless and Ten Spot, when they rode forth, that Billie just made up his mind he would never stand for it. So he had