“I sort o’ think it’ll make me wild to ride through it,” murmured Larry.
In spite of his lesson he felt discontented feelings coming over him again. He longed for the camping-out time to arrive, when, lolling in the pleasant shade of some tree, he could read, or otherwise amuse himself.
On all sides of the gorge, which the lads soon entered, was a beaten trail made by the passing of countless horses and cattle. Though often turned aside by grim-looking boulders, groups of stunted trees, or thickets, they made good progress.
“I see it,” sang out Tom.
Just above a jutting crag the upper part of the ranch-house, glowing in the sun, had appeared to his eagerly searching vision.
“Jerry Duncan’s!” exclaimed Thunderbolt.
“Hooray!” cried Tom, spurring his horse into a gallop.
Now over a smooth grassy stretch, the seven swung along, and, sweeping around a rocky barrier, saw the solid, substantial home of Jerry Duncan rising before them. It was surrounded by a wide, cozy-looking porch, and not far in the rear stood a commodious stable.
Resting in a cup-shaped enclosure between the hills, the ranch-house suggested a pleasing retreat. The shadow of the opposite range was already beginning to steal across the grassy floor over which a number of horses and cattle were grazing. At their rapid approach the deep baying of a dog chained to a post echoed startlingly clear.
On the instant two men came running out of the house.