“I did.”
“How do we get there?”
“Follow the brook until you come to a road, then follow that until you reach Bradley.”
“Thank you. When will you be over again?”
“As soon as I can. Come on, I’ll see you started.”
And when the ponies were saddled, the young homesteaders bade the agent good-bye, shouting their thanks to him as they rode away.
With very little trouble they were able to keep along the brook, reaching the road in due course, and noon found them riding down the main, and only, street of Bradley.
A mushroom town built to cater to the desires of the lumberjacks from three near-by camps, and the handful of settlers; there were more public houses and dance halls than anything else, among which was tucked the inevitable “general store,” and before this they drew rein.
Several loungers seated on the store porch sat up and took notice as the boys made their ponies fast.
“Orphans’ home is first street to the left,” drawled one of them.