"Nothing," Hal answered, "except that he was lying, as usual, of course. Tip never tells the truth; there's no sport in it."
"I'd like to know what he is doing out in this country."
"Oh, I reckon," suggested Hal, "that, as he couldn't be a soldier, he thought he'd take up cowboy life as the next best thing."
"He won't last long as a cowboy," laughed Noll. "Tip hates work, and the cowboy is about the hardest worked man in America."
"Well, we don't have to worry about Tip," muttered Hal. "We don't even have to talk about him. Noll, look at those noble old mountains!"
"Some day, when we have enough time off, we must walk to the mountains," urged Noll. "I wonder how many miles away they are—five, or six?"
"Hm!" laughed Hal. "I asked Sergeant Gray, and he said that range over there is about forty miles away."
"Forty!" Noll looked plainly unbelieving.
"You'll find out, Noll Terry, that the air in these glorious old Rocky Mountains is so mighty clear that you can't judge distances the way you did back East. I'd rather have Sergeant Gray's word than any evidence that my own eyes can supply me with."
"We won't get to that mountain range, then, until we have a week off," sighed Noll.