Nimbly the crowd piled through the trap-door. Down-stairs they buckled on cartridge belts, adjusted revolvers, holsters, and lastly slung glistening rifles over their shoulders, while Professor Kent and George Parry looked on with twinkling eyes.
“Never in all my life did I see a peaceable bunch look more warlike!” chuckled the latter. “Boys, if you ever cut across the river in that rig, you’ll have the Mexicans surely thinking that the United States is tired of ‘watchful waiting’ at last.”
“That’s all right,” laughed Cranny.
A few minutes later the party was in the stable. Then followed a lively scene. The mustangs whirled and danced about, but all the activity on their part failed to impress the little burro, which had to be prodded and coaxed vigorously before he would consent to leave the mellow shadows of the interior.
Quickly the boys sprang into the saddles, fastened their rifles across the pommels, and in a due westerly direction galloped off, occasionally uttering yells which no doubt easily carried against the slight breeze to the ears of the approaching Rangers. In the crest of a gentle rise they drew rein, to gaze long and earnestly over the prairie. But the only other human beings in sight besides themselves were the lecturer and his assistant, who, hampered by the obstinate burro, had been left far to the rear.
“Give another whoop, fellows!” commanded Tom.
The others obeyed, and immediately following their lusty chorus came a faint, answering hail.
“Ha, ha!” laughed Cranny. “We’ll soon be on the way.”
Before the other travelers had time to reach them, the four Rangers, with Jack Stovall in the lead, came into view over a ridge.
“I was mighty certain ye’d never let us git by ye!” shouted the young Ranger, the moment he had come within speaking distance. Then, glancing toward the two men, urging the burro to a faster gait, he added with a quizzical smile, “Say, pards! I reckon that’s some more o’ your gang, eh?”