Dave Brandon, lolling in the grass close by, nodded. “I have that policeman feeling, too,” he drawled. “It’s becoming a settled habit with me to be on the constant lookout for cattle rustlers and other kinds of outlaws.”
“Same here,” declared Sam Randall, who was also reclining on the ground in a position of the greatest ease. “Order on the prairie must be kept at any cost. Say—it seems lonely without the Ranger bunch around, eh?”
“Yes,” said Dave, “we haven’t been on very many trips alone.”
Some hours earlier, the three lads had left the Ranger encampment for a ride across the prairie. The day was hot and in the field of deep blue sky a few long strips of hazy clouds seemed to be resting almost motionless.
Discovering a thick growth of timber which bordered a narrow, twisting stream, the boys had headed for it and dismounting in the shadowy depths tethered their mustangs. Then, lured on by the musical tinkle of running water, they had penetrated still deeper into the dense brake, finally reaching the shelving shore of the creek.
It was a delightfully cool and pleasant retreat after the heat and glare of the open prairie, and when their thirst was quenched with the clear, cool water, the lads found a little open space that, Dave declared, seemed to fairly invite them to seek repose.
Between the leafy masses overhead came streaks of brilliant sunshine which, by contrast, made the greenish depths about them all the more mysterious and inviting. From their position they could see the water bubbling and rippling past the moss-covered rocks that jutted above the surface, its never ceasing melody occasionally broken by the chattering of birds. Over the air, like incense, floated the fragrant perfumes of the thicket and the faint odor of the fresh cool water.
“How delightful,” mused Dave, in dreamy tones.
“I wonder if it’s safe to leave our mustangs over yonder,” remarked Sam, reflectively.
“I wonder if Bob and Tom will have any trouble in finding that young pianist again,” said Don.