"My God! What a country!" cried Ernest.
"My God! What a pair of fools," returned Roger. "After all Dick's warnings, why didn't we build for sand storms! Lend me a hand here, Ern, with this four by four. My word! Where's Dick going? Hey, Dick! What's your hurry?"
He might as well have hailed the setting sun. Dick driving his own team, Hackett's hitched to his wagon tail, whirled by at a gallop.
Roger and Ernest stood gaping, first at the receding puff of dust on the Archer's Springs trail, then at each other.
"Something's wrong at the ranch!" exclaimed Roger finally.
Ernest nodded and they both turned to stare toward the ranch house. As they stood scowling into the blinding desert light, a little gray burro rounded the corner of the cook tent, and a moment later Crazy Dutch appeared.
"We need a traffic policeman in this desert," said Ernest solemnly. "There's too much passing at this corner."
"Get your gun, quick, Ern. It's Von Minden," cried Roger.
Ernest obeyed hurriedly. But the visitor shot his arms even more hurriedly into the air.
"Don't shoot!" he cried. "My gun's strapped on Peter. I came to make apologies. Search Peter and me."