The moon had risen and was casting a pale, greenish radiance over the picturesque little town, when the seven, who had been seated on the spacious veranda of a restaurant, reluctantly decided that it was time to go. Under the magic of the soft illumination the harshness of line and color had departed. Even the grim-looking grain elevator near the railroad tracks, a flat mass of bluish gray rising against a luminous sky, wore an aspect of calm serenity which fitted well into a scene full of silvery lights and mysterious shadows.
“Ah, how superb is nature,” sighed Dave.
“What a superb meal we had,” chuckled Don.
“An’ what a superb ride is before us,” chimed in Cranny.
He was the first to dash down the wooden steps, the first to spring into the saddle, and he also led the procession of riders which presently swung into the broad white road.
Waving their hands in response to salutations from several interested spectators, the boys allowed the mustangs to break into a lively gallop, which they kept up until the railroad crossing was reached. There, a long line of slowly-moving freight cars filled with crates of onions barred their way.
“Huh!” said Tom, “I guess there’s enough of ’em to melt the whole world to tears.”
“This little Texas town,” remarked Sam quite solemnly, “enjoys the distinction of being one of the largest onion-shipping points in the world.”
“Do tell,” grinned Cranny.
“And you might as well learn that the soil is good for all sorts of truck and farm products. Figs, grapes, watermelons, cantaloupes, and cabbages.”