“I wonder if they’d object to our accompanying the expedition?” mused the lecturer. “I declare, Parry”—he turned to his assistant—“it would suit me capitally.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Parry.
“The Rangers will be glad to have you, I’m sure,” declared Bob, confidently.
“Good. Anyway, a word in our favor from the Ramblers ought to have great weight with them,” laughed the other.
Within another half hour the crowd had attended to their mustangs, besides examining those of the visitors, which, together with a sturdy little burro, they found very interesting. Then each took a hasty look at the motion-picture cameras and other paraphernalia necessary to the travelers’ profession.
“Oh, my! Don’t I wish I could lecture,” sighed Cranny. Disturbing thoughts concerning that bothersome subject—his future—flashed into his mind once more, but Tom’s loud, gruff remark: “Step along lively, fellows! We ought to be hitting those balsam boughs—the Rangers, you know!” drove them away on the instant.
“Don’t worry, Tom, we won’t miss ’em,” he gurgled.
On their way to the house the group stopped for a few moments to study the calm and poetic aspect of nature. The far-off hills on the Mexican shores rose faintly against a bluish-green sky unflecked with clouds, while the tall grasses of the prairie, still waving and tossing under the influence of a gusty breeze, were edged with delicate touches of silvery light.
“Glorious!” pronounced Dave.
“And yet only a few miles away, perhaps amid just such another peaceful scene, rival armies are encamped ready to hurl themselves upon each other at the first opportunity,” remarked the professor, with a thoughtful look.