“Of course that’s it!” cried the Tacoma lad, joyously.
“That makes me feel a great deal better!”
“I don’t understand it,” murmured Tom.
“It certainly looks mighty encouraging anyway!” cried Bob. “Get over there, ‘Whirly-gig’—steady, boy—let’s head for the cool shadows of the patio, fellows, and talk it over.”
When the ponies were secured to the iron rings the three made a rapid sprint for the hotel. On the topmost step they paused.
“Ah!” murmured Cranny.
On a street in line with them, leading off from the plaza, they saw a large body of cavalrymen, a jam of horses and men in the narrow confines, bearing rapidly down on the sun-baked square.
“I can’t help it,” growled Tom, wiping beads of perspiration from his face. “I’m going to have a rest!” He walked inside with the others following at his heels.
“We’ll have to trust to luck, and——” Bob Somers had just come in sight of the patio when he uttered these words, but instead of finishing the sentence he stopped abruptly, to gasp out an exclamation of the utmost astonishment.
His companions, too, uttered similar sounds.