Both animals were splendid creatures, well built and powerful. Blackhawk, as the name suggests, was jet black, his coat glistening in the sun, and Lightning was a roan.
Already Bill and Horace were on their ponies, and the two brothers were just swinging into their saddles when a voice cried:
"Tom! Larry!"
Turning their heads, the boys beheld Hans, the tears streaming down his cheeks, rushing toward them as fast as his valises would let him.
No need was there to ask if he had found a trace of his brother.
The tears told all too plainly that he had not.
"Who in the world is that?" asked Horace in astonishment.
"A German boy who traveled with us," explained Tom. "Do you know any one in Tolopah by the name of Chris Ober?"
"Struck out for old Mexico, prospecting for gold, three months ago," replied Bill. "Why?"
"That's his brother Hans, who has come from Berlin to visit him," returned Tom. And hurriedly he gave an outline of the German lad's story.
"Phew! Chicken-hearted, is he?" commented Horace. "It won't do to leave him in Tolopah. Luckily one of our men is in town with our grub wagon. He can ride out to the ranch with him."