The boys again dined with Mr. Beaumont, and during the evening assisted Cranny and Willie to pack their belongings. When the former announced that nothing further remained to be done, they gave a cheer which caused Willie to stare at them in astonishment.
“Ginger! You chaps have a nerve to startle me like that,” he remarked.
“Wait till you see us at the ranch,” laughed Cranny, as he slipped on a well-worn cartridge belt. “Gee, fellows, this feels natural. Look, Bob!”—he held up a large revolver—“the identical chap I had at Circle T! And there’s my gun in the corner; it’s always been kept in good condition.”
“Good boy,” said Bob, approvingly. “Our arsenal is at the hotel. Glad you are going along with us, Willie?” he asked, slapping the lad on the shoulder.
“Oh, kinder. Only I wish we could ride there in an aeroplane. Bet none of you chaps would have the nerve to take a flyer.”
“That’s because you don’t know us,” said tall Tom Clifton, stiffly.
“Oh, Mr. Clifton,” jeered Willie, “aren’t——”
“Fellows”—Bob Somers’ clear voice interrupted him—“I have an idea that before this trip is over we may have some experience with aeroplanes. Those aviators at Lone Pine will——”
“Let us go up, sure as shootin’,” supplied Cranny, his eyes beginning to sparkle with interest.
“Which means that I’ll have to write a few hundred pages more,” drawled Dave, who was sprawling with careless ease on a chair by the window. “For, of course,” he added, with a chuckle, “we’ll get hold of a machine somehow, and have it all to ourselves.”