“Come again, and we’ll exterminate a whole band of redskins for you!”
“And have a cattle stampede made to order any day you want!”
These were only a few of the many expressions from the cowboys.
“Say, if they don’t kill themselves, they’ll make us deaf, with all that noise,” predicted C. C.
“This isn’t a funeral,” declared Mr. Hadley. “It’s a jolly occasion, Gloomy Gus!”
“Huh! Jolly? First you know some one will be hurt.”
But no one was, in spite of the direful predictions, and soon the cowboys drew off, with final shots from their revolvers, discharging them in the air. The Indians, too, had their share in the farewell, though they were not so demonstrative as were their companions.
“And now for the coast!” cried Blake, as they reached the train.
“And my dad,” added Joe, and there was a trace of tears in his eyes, which he did not attempt to conceal. Blake knew just how his chum felt, and he found himself wishing that he, too, was going to find some relative. But he knew the only one he had was his aged uncle.
Little of incident occurred on the trip to San Diego, which had been decided on as headquarters until a suitable location, away from any town, could be selected directly on the ocean beach. I say little of moment, but C. C. was continually predicting that something would happen, from a real hold-up to a train wreck.