Dick promised, and dashed away to tell his friends.
“That’s great!” cried Tom. “Let’s get right off.” He vaulted into the saddle, while Dick raised his voice in another command to Dave and Tim.
The two boys came hurrying forward, and they all started immediately.
It was a long ride to Roaring Horse Junction, so the boys allowed their bronchos to set their own pace.
At the rendezvous, they found not only Jed, but Pete Sanderson, as well. The young cow-puncher had encountered the veteran on the range, and Straight-backed Pete needed no urging to accompany him.
Guided by the cowboys, who were thoroughly familiar with the trails, the party crossed the foot-hills, and at length reached the bolder elevations.
Here they traveled from one point of vantage to another, spending several hours in this way; but no trace of either aeroplane or balloon could be discovered.
In the midst of a forest on the sloping side of a mountain their bronchos were picketed, for night was coming on. A strong wind moaned and whistled through the trees, and toyed with the pine cones, and sent little eddies of dry leaves scurrying over the ground.
“The balloon seemed to come about in this direction,” declared Dave, who had taken his seat on a partly decayed log.
“I only hope them thar fellers an’ the ones in the arioplane ain’t been busted inter a thousand bits,” said Pete. “But didn’t I tell ye it weren’t never intended for men ter fly?” The big cow-puncher glared sternly from one to the other; and, as only gloomy silence followed his words, began again: “’Tain’t nateral; an’ only a bloomin’ maverick ’ud think as how it were.”