"Oh, may I ride a pony out to the ranch?" cried Bert.
"I don't believe they'll bring any ponies to meet us," said Mr.
Bobbsey. "Later on you may ride one."
The train pulled into the little western station. Some time since the big stretches of woods and trees had been left behind, and now the Bobbseys were in the open prairie country—the land of cattle, cowboys and, at least Bert hoped, of Indians also.
"This is really the West, isn't it?" said Bert to his father, as they saw the wide, rolling fields on either side of the train.
"Yes, this is the West," was the answer.
"But where are the cowboys and the cows?" Nan asked.
"Oh, they don't come so close to the railroad," her father explained.
"You'll see them when you get to the ranch."
Then the train reached the small station, as I have said. It seemed to be very lonesome. There were no other buildings near it—only a water tank, and there was not an Indian in sight. At first Bert thought there was not even a cowboy, but when he saw a man sitting on the seat of a wagon with some horses hitched in front—horses that had queer, rough marks on their flanks—Bert cried:
"Oh, say! I guess he's a cowboy!" and he pointed to the driver.
"He hasn't any cow!" exclaimed Flossie, and she wondered why the man in the wagon laughed.