“Well,” responded the young man as he lit a new cigarette, “if that’s true I think I’m going with them.”
His tone was so positive and so conclusive that neither Norman nor Roy made any immediate comment. Moved by politeness they asked the young man if he would care to have a look at the airship. While Norman explained something about himself and his companion the three young men made their way back to the aerodrome. Before they reached it he had related their own small adventures.
Then young Zept had made them further acquainted with himself. Like his father he had been born in Austria and later had been sent to school in Paris. There, as Norman and Roy could see, he had received a more than ordinary education, part of which, as the boys afterwards learned, was devoted to music. They also learned later that although not a great singer he had a pleasing tenor voice.
Paul told them himself that he had devoted a great deal of time to horsemanship. This, he explained, was doubtless due to the fact that his father had always engaged in the raising and selling of horses. The young man also explained to the boys that he had not only received the ordinary riding lessons but that he had also been trained under Austrian and Italian military riding masters. His interest in the coming “Stampede” was due largely to the exhibit of horsemanship that he expected to see.
“I can’t see why you wouldn’t like life on a horse ranch,” commented Roy at last.
“No matter!” responded the young man. “I do like horses and I know it’s going to be a jolly row with the governor but I’ve always had my own way and I don’t think he’ll stop me now. I think I’m going into the wilderness—even if I have to go alone. I’ve been riding horses all my life. Now I want to do something. The governor wants me to go in for making money. I want to discover something.”
Again the two boys looked at each other without knowing just what to say. Their new acquaintance was certainly affable enough, but his education and his foreign bearing put him somewhat above the young men and they felt a certain reticence in his presence. Finally, as Norman unlocked the door of the aerodrome, it occurred to him to say:
“This wilderness idea is pretty fine at long range or in books, but it seems to be like some other things. If you’ve got the real hankering for it, rotten food and all the mosquitoes in the world won’t keep you from it.”
“You don’t know it,” broke in the young Austrian instantly, “but if we’re going to live in the same town I might as well tell you that a lot of people call me ‘Count Zept.’ Of course I’m not a ‘Count’ and I don’t know why they gave me the title, unless it’s because I’ve never been good for much. Now I’m going to get rid of that handle to my name by showing my folks and others that I can do something besides ride horses. I’m going home with old Moosetooth and La Biche and stay there long enough to forget there’s a place like Paris.”