Bob wrung his hand warmly. Then, closing the door of the cabin, the two started briskly off in the direction of the horse.
Every step of the way Bob was picturing in his mind the astonishment, the joy, their arrival was bound to create. He thought how the anxious watchers would be repaid for all their worry.
The horse was in good condition to continue the journey. Bob Somers quickly mounted; then Jed sprang up behind him, and in this fashion they started off to carry the news of a most sensational event to the Canadian authorities.
Jed Warren, being thoroughly familiar with the topography of the country, directed their course. Bob Somers soon found himself riding along the trail by the base of the hill. There were still many ridges to be crossed, so the sturdy little nag was not pushed too hard.
It was very trying on Jed Warren’s patience, though under the influence of Bob Somers’ cheery remarks the stern lines on his face gradually relaxed, to be replaced at length by a grin.
“I sure think it’s a rich joke on me, Bob,” he exclaimed. “How Hank Styles an’ his men must have laughed when everybody fell for that little trick o’ theirs.”
Up and down hill they jogged, across broad or narrow valleys, with a soft breeze blowing in their faces and white clouds floating in the field of blue above.
The journey seemed very long to both, but, like all journeys, finally approached an end. Reaching the crest of a hill they looked down, to see Jerry Duncan’s substantial ranch-house about a quarter of a mile beyond at the base of the slope.
“Hooray!” shouted Bob.
And now he sent his pony pounding along faster and faster until they were traveling at a pace which might have been trying to less experienced riders.