“Travers! Where are you, Jed?”
“Out on the range—two mile away, at Mr. Follett’s sub-station. ’Tain’t much more’n a pile o’ boards throw’d together an’ a-standin’ on posts; but it’s got a door an’ a winder, an’ a roof ter keep out ther rain.”
“I know!” exclaimed Dick, impatiently. “But what do you want, Jed?”
“I seen them thar air-skimmers a-kitin’ off ter beat all creation; an’ I know everythin’ weren’t all right. How ’bout it, Dick?”
The lad explained.
“I thought so! An’ a-goin’ ter chase ’em, eh? Wal, I don’t blame ye for feelin’ kind o’ worked up. But ye’d best not wenture in them mountains alone. Say, pard, I’ll meet ye at Roarin’ Horse Junction. ’Member the place?”
“Sure thing, Jed. When the crowd was here before, we passed it.”
“Good! I’ve got a letter from that thar little maverick over to Border City.”
“Willie Sloan?”
“The identical chap, pard. An’ I only hope he don’t come to no harm in that skimmer. Now, don’t forgit, Travers; wait for me at Roarin’ Horse.”