“Don’t think of such things, Cranny,” begged Dave. “I’m just longing for a nice quiet trip.”
“Haven’t you any clues?” asked Bob.
“Nary a one,” responded Jack. “I reckon, though, it’s the work of a purty well organized band o’ outlaws.”
“An’ to change the subject, boys,” interposed Raulings, “don’t forget that little job we have on hand for Colonel Sylvester. The last time I saw him he was all worked-up about that kid.”
Ranger Chaney was the only one who heard this speech, for at that precise moment all the boys rose to their feet, which, together with Cranny’s boisterous laughter at some observation of Dave’s, and a lively rattle of tongues, proved quite sufficient to distract the others’ attention.
“I reckon he’s skipped from these parts a’ready,” remarked Chaney.
“An’ I reckon he ain’t,” returned the other.
A few minutes later the crowd took leave of the Rangers, promising to keep a sharp lookout for them on the following morning.
Cranny Beaumont was in a very happy frame of mind. The Tacoma lad had another interesting subject to occupy his mind just now—the cattle rustlers. And it would be a mighty strange thing, he thought, if between them and a visit to the Mexican side of the “Rio Bravo” he didn’t run into some kind of excitement before his visit to Texas was over. And excitement to Cranny seemed almost as necessary to existence as food and drink.