"Lost any sheep last night?" asked Fly, as soon as the few words of greeting had been said.
"Half a dozen of 'em," replied the rancher's son. "Dad's mad as all get out. Says he's goin' to watch every night, and when that thing comes again he's goin' to blow it to kingdom come."
"Well, we saw one sheep down the road," informed Dunk, "all cut to pieces."
"A nice little lamb too," said Fred regretfully.
"Shouldn't be surprised. We found a couple, and they sure was done for. Now's the time for us to hit dad hard for that aeroplane."
"Glad to know yuh; come right up," was Mr. Phipps' cordial greeting as he came halfway down the veranda step to meet the aviator and welcome the boys. His cool, spotless linen suit was quite a contrast to the somewhat grimy appearance of the visitors.
"We're pretty warm after that ride," apologized Hawke, mopping his forehead with his handkerchief.
"Mebbe yuh'd like to go inside and wash up," suggested Mr. Phipps amiably, and his invitation was heartily accepted by all the party. "Herb, show them around," commanded the rancher, and his son readily complied.
The ranch-house, which Mr. Phipps had built himself, was a duplicate of the old homestead in Texas. The roominess which the large, square exterior suggested was carried out in the great, wide rooms and high ceilings within. The spacious halls and stairways reminded one more of a magnificent southern home than of a New Mexico ranch-house. Oriental rugs in delicate shadings covered the highly polished floors, and the massive mahogany furniture and tasteful hangings gave the whole an appearance of elegance and refinement such as sheepmen are not reputed to have.
"This is one of my venerable ancestors," said Herb, when the party filed downstairs, refreshed. "Yuh see, father's folks was French. This fellow is General Dupont, and fought some good fights in the Franco-Prussian war. They say he never would have been killed, born under a lucky star like Napoleon—only he lingered too long with a wounded comrade at the siege of Paris."