“It’s just like a horrid nightmare where you start for a place and some unseen foe holds you back,” said Joan.
“I suppose Sandy and Mr. Burt are almost up in Taos by this time,” wailed Julie.
“Who’s taking our names in vain?” called a genial voice from behind a wide-open newspaper. The man thus screened, sat in a chair in the corner. Now he jumped up and laughingly came forward.
“Wby, Sandy! Where did you come from?” cried the girls in one voice.
“Right straight to you from that corner,” said the Ranger, pointing to the paper on the chair.
“My! but you’re good for sore eyes, old chap,” remarked Mr. Vernon, shaking hands with the Ranger.
“Yes, eyes sore from hunting for needles lost in a haystack,” laughed Julie.
Sanderson smiled at her as she spoke. He had not believed Julie so enchanting as he now found her to be. But the recital of a tale of woe now demanded his attention. When Mr. Vernon’s story was ended, the Ranger’s advice was asked.
“Burt and I arrived here not twenty minutes before you came. He is out somewhere, but I wanted to see the papers before dinner. I saw you come up to the door and I hid myself to see what you would do when you found me,” explained Sanderson.
Then he proceeded to outline what could be done to get the burros as well as the men, common rustlers without a doubt, who had stolen the animals.