“It’s Jack!” he cried.
“It is the broncho bustin’ Tenderfoot as sure as you’re a foot high!” bawled out Bud.
“But who’s that with him?” demanded Walt.
“Dunno; looks like a greaser,” growled Bud, who had no liking for the “brown brothers” across the Border.
And then, at the risk of starting another stampede, the cavalcade dashed forward, waving their hats and yelling like wild Indians.
Mr. Reeves rode right down on Jack.
“Boy, you’re a wonder. How did you do it? No; stop; don’t tell me now. I can see you’re about tuckered out. How are you?”
“Roasted out,” rejoined Jack with an attempt at a smile. But his voice was hoarse as a crow’s and his lips were too baked and cracked to smile naturally.
“Great heavens, boy, you’ve been through an awfully tough ordeal, I can see that. But who is this personage here?”
Mr. Reeves indicated Alvarez, who shrank under his gaze.