Tom, however, determined to show his mettle, resourcefulness and courage, stoutly insisted.
Then, to end the argument, he ran briskly from the room; and, once outside, dashed toward the horses at a rate which set them all to prancing wildly about.
The tall boy made it a point to be always in a state of preparedness. His saddle bags and canteens were already filled. What little work remained to be done he accomplished quickly, and just as the reins snapped into place sang out:
“GOOD LUCK, OLD BOY”
“Now I’m off, fellows, in search of Larry—and adventure!”
His companions, standing near the imposing columns of Fool’s Castle, were waving farewells.
“Good luck, old boy!” shouted Bob Somers.
“Don’t worry about me,” yelled Tom, leaping on the pony’s back. “I’m too old a hand at this game to get into any trouble. So-long!”
His hand came down sharply on the animal’s flank. Then the interested onlookers saw their chum galloping swiftly toward the gate, leaving behind him clouds of yellowish dust.