“Right away.”
Probably Cranny’s quick decision was caused by the strong liking he had taken to the youthful newspaper man. He felt that he was one of those “red-blooded” chaps, full of grit and determination.
The crowd was certainly astonished. It seemed most unlike Cranny to proffer his services for any kind of work when he could just as easily go off on a pleasure jaunt. So with puzzled expressions they watched him and the correspondent presently leave the room.
“Remarkable,” whispered Dick.
“Being with us is doing Cranny lots of good,” said Tom.
“It isn’t making him any worse, at least,” said Bob, with a smile.
Two hours later the Tacoma lad reappeared, carrying a manuscript.
“I sailed through it like a breeze, fellows,” he chuckled gleefully. “A whole two cent lead pencil’s gone. I’m off to despatch it to the newspaper syndicate. Comin’ along? Good.”
The post and telegraph office was in the same building as the general store. Situated in the liveliest section of the frontier town, with a spacious porch surrounding the entire structure, it had become a convenient lounging place for a considerable number of the idle poor.
“It was like running a gauntlet,” Dick declared, to pass before the dark glittering eyes of the Mexicans.