Quite interested the three stared hard toward the approaching horseman, uttering a hearty salutation when a short time later he reined up in their midst.
He was a tall, stern-looking man, though the lines on his face were relaxed by a curious smile as his eyes traveled over the group.
“’Pon my word!” he exclaimed, in bluff, hearty tones—“it must be—yes, I’m sure of it—some of the Ramblers young Clifton told me about.”
“Good-afternoon, Colonel Sylvester,” said Dave.
A twinkle came into the colonel’s eyes; then with a sudden change of tone he said: “Yes, that’s my name. Boys, you must have heard some pistol shots a short time ago. Have you any idea where——”
“Yes, sir, we have,” spoke up Don with a chuckle.
“Peccaries!” explained Dave.
A broad smile illuminated the ranchman’s face as he listened to a description of their experience.
“I was on my way to the Rangers’ quarters when a series of very faint reports reached my ears,” he explained. “I judged they came from this direction and hurried over, thinking that perhaps the Rangers were having a scrimmage with a band of outlaws. Boys! I have a bit of news for you”—the colonel’s face was beaming—“your friends are returning to the encampment this afternoon bringing my nephew, Jimmy Raymond, with them.”
“Fine, splendid!” cried Dave. “Ever since the boys told me about Jimmy I’ve wanted to meet him.”