Chet insisted on following the river down-stream till they struck the Grub Stake trail, although Dig was eager to go back by the way of the gulch in which they had corralled the buffaloes.
“We’ve fooled away enough time on this journey already,” Chet said decisively. “Why, Dig! to-day is Sunday. We’ve been a week on the trail. We must hurry.”
“Whew! I’d like to see if those creatures are safe.”
“They’re safe enough. Nobody will roll that tree away—not even our friends back yonder. We’ll hurry on to town and see what arrangements we can make for selling the whole herd.”
“By the last hoptoad that was chased out of Ireland!” ejaculated Dig, vigorously. “If you do that, Chet Havens, you’ll be the very smartest fellow I ever met!”
“I bet we can sell the buffaloes a whole lot more easily than you could have sold that little old Stone Fence you started to bring along,” laughed his chum.
And so it proved. The boys reached the regular trail to Grub Stake without mishap, and on Monday evening rode into the mountain mining town and put up at the best hotel. After more than a week on the trail they were glad to get a bath and crawl in between sheets again.
Tuesday morning Chet went to the express office, identified himself, made arrangements for the payment of his father’s money to the owner of a certain share in the Crayton claim, and then hunted up Mr. John Morrisy.
The chums found him to be a very pleasant old man, if illiterate. After their business with him was transacted, Mr. Morrisy, who had heard the story of the boys’ adventures, found the very man for them who was willing to invest in a herd of buffaloes.
This man agreed to pay the boys a hundred dollars in cash on the ground where the buffaloes were corralled. Of course, the beasts were worth a great deal more; but the boys were not prepared to transport them to any market. There was a public-spirited citizen farther east who was willing to pay well for live buffaloes and this man at Grub Stake was acting as his agent.