But before he could begin the next line Ralph struck in with:
“There’s where our pants are floating ever;
There’s where they’re gone to stay!”
In the general roar of laughter which followed, the “grouch” which had settled down on the tired wayfarers vanished like the spring snow under a burst of sunlight.
With a shout the boys, their troubles forgotten in an outburst of that good nature that makes the whole world kin, plunged forward, their shirt tails flying.
“Yip-yip-ye-ee!”
The joyous yell filled the air. And then it broke off into a real cheer, for, on surmounting the summit of a small eminence, they saw below them, not more than a mile off, a small adobe house of unusual type, for it had two stories. It was surrounded by a grove of green willows which delighted the eye tired by the endless gray-green stretches of grease-wood savannahs.
Even the dignified professor joined in the enthusiasm, and in a minute a cavalcade was bearing down on the place at breakneck speed. As they neared it in a thunder of hoofs and a cloud of yellow dust, a door opened and the figure of a gaunt Mexican, with long, shaggy, black hair hanging straight and lank to his shoulders, stepped out. His next move halted the leaders of the party abruptly.
He jerked a long-barreled rifle to his shoulder and pointed it threateningly.
“Mira rurales!” he yelled to some one within the house.