“Billy Ashe go now,” exclaimed Thunderbolt.
“He seems to have plenty of nerve,” remarked Larry, reflectively. A rather shivery sensation stole through him as he thought of the lonely ride which must be before the trooper in the gloom and silence of the prairie.
“Oh, it’s all in getting used to it,” said Tom.
“Of course,” returned Larry, wearily.
“I’d like to stay here for a week,” remarked Dave Brandon. “There is something so cozy about these Indian teepees. And to sit beside a bed of glowing coals and look at the starry sky——”
“Help!” laughed Larry. “It’s been too much for him.”
“And to feel an inspiration for a poem steadily growing is certainly——”
“Delightful—if it never appears in the Kingswood High School ‘Reflector.’”
“I can sympathize with Mr. Walt Allen,” sighed Dave, somewhat irrelevantly.
At the extreme edge of the village, not far from the break in the hills, the party encountered several dogs whose vociferous barking and angry snarls made Larry Burnham step back in alarm. The dim forms whisking around so close at hand caused him to fear that at any moment the brutes might spring upon him.