"I don't like the looks of that fellow at all," muttered the boy as he rode on, instinctively urging his mount along at an increased speed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the curious stranger.
"Funny he should ask me that question about my pony. However, perhaps it is a peculiarity in this part of the country. Wonder what he meant by saying that there would be something doing here pretty quick."
After a time Ned turned in his saddle and looked back. The horseman was standing as Ned had left him. He was watching the boy. Ned swung his hand, and then turned, glad that he was well rid of the man.
Late in the afternoon, he saw the village of Forsythe just ahead of him. The boy could have shouted at the sight.
"Straight as you could shoot a bullet," he chuckled. "I guess I can follow the old Custer trail without getting lost."
He did not pause, but galloped on into the village and up the main street, not halting until he had reached the bank with which Mr. Simms was connected.
He was stiff and sore from the long, continuous ride, and as he dismounted he found that he could scarcely stand.
After tethering the pony to the iron rod that had been fastened to two posts, Ned walked into the bank. Red-faced and dusty he presented himself to the banker. At first the latter did not appear to recognize him.
"I am Ned Rector of the Pony Rider Boys," explained the lad.
Mr. Simms sprang up and grasped the boy cordially by the hand.