“Easy, boys, easy,” he counseled. Then, turning to Farr, he asked: “Who’s on stable duty to-night?”
“Stephen Stevens, sir,” answered the trooper.
“Well, tell him to take charge of the horses. Now, boys,” he added, “come inside. I suppose you must be pretty tired. How long have you been in the saddle?”
“Ever since early this morning,” answered the tall Rambler. “Tired! Oh, I guess not. I’m good for another twenty mile jaunt. You see we’re used to this sort of thing, and——”
“Tom Clifton is the greatest fellow that ever happened outside the covers of a story book,” came in a drawling voice from some one. “Never gets tired; never gets sleepy. He could look a grizzly bear in the face without even winking. It’s a wonder to me that——”
“Oh, cut it all out, Larry Burnham,” snapped the other. “I wasn’t born lazy, for one thing. Are we coming in? Yes, sergeant; right away.”
As they fell in behind Erskine’s tall, erect figure the troopers led their tired mounts toward the stables.
On two sides of the barracks were long benches, and upon these six lads were soon seated comfortably.
“Sergeant Erskine,” began Bob Somers, “we’ve heard a good deal about you from Jed. Now I’ll introduce the crowd.”
The “crowd” promptly stood up, while Bob Somers, with a wave of his hand toward each, in a delightfully informal fashion, made known their names.