“Oh, get out!” mumbled Tommy.
“Not while we’re cuttin’ along at this rate,” grinned Willie. “Say, Cran, is it really true that the earth turns on its axle? I——”
“There’s the town, sure as I live!” called out Sam Randall, excitedly, waving a field-glass. “Yes siree, Bob Somers, it is.”
“Where away?” cried Cranny.
“To the right; see it?—Border City, fellows, looking twice as natural as it ever did. My! the place must have grown just as fast as Tommy. Hooray! Won’t be long, now, before we’re there.”
“And I’ll bet Jed Warren’ll be waiting for us with the buckboard and some lively bronchos,” roared Cranny. “You wrote Mr. Follett when we’d arrive, eh, Bob? I thought so. Yes; I can make out some buildings now.”
“And, just think, to-night—old Circle T Ranch again,” remarked Bob. “Won’t that be jolly?”
With eager impatience the boys watched the town of Border City coming into view. There was no need of the field-glass now. Outlined against a line of hills beyond, the pale-colored buildings in the full glare of the noonday sun were assuming definite form.
“Border City terminal!”
The conductor’s voice came to their ears above the rumble of wheels. A sharp, crisp blast from the locomotive whistle shrieked its way across the plains; and the happy and expectant crowd promptly flung to the breeze a ringing chorus of shouts to keep it company.