Fifteen minutes later the stableman led out their mustangs. Then while all the Americans and the still smiling hotel proprietor gathered about them, the boys sprang into the saddle.
“We’ll be back in a day or two to get you, Cranny!” sang out Bob. “So-long.”
“So-long,” shouted Tom.
Then followed by a storm of “good-byes” the Ramblers galloped off.
It was market day once more, and the heat of the day not having set in, the plaza presented a lively, bustling scene. No one ever seemed to buy without doing an immense amount of bargaining beforehand, and on every side loud vociferous arguments arose.
“It takes lots of work to sell stuff here,” laughed Tom. “Hey there! look out!” he altered his course just in time to avoid striking a pair of wandering goats. “Wasn’t that a narrow shave!”
At a good pace the two clattered through the town, slowing up when the outskirts were reached.
“There’s no great hurry, Tom,” declared Bob. “We ought to reach the Rangers’ quarters without much trouble shortly after sunset.”
“Sure thing,” agreed Tom. “And we want to save our nags as much as possible.”
The day was a sultry one, with but little air stirring. Often Bob Somers raised his head to study the sky.