“The wheels of industry have surely begun to turn in earnest here,” laughed Dave. “Doesn’t it show what a real live-wire man can do?”
“Cran will short-circuit that chap all right,” grunted Willie, “an’ then they’ll have another street—Cranberry Bog Avenue. Gee! I don’t believe that careless driver’ll ever let us reach the farmhouse alive.”
Presently the prairie opened out before them, hemmed in by a line of hills. Over its broad, flat surface the buckboard traveled at a rattling pace. The boys on the bronchos rode far in advance, their shouts of glee often flung to the air. By the time the vehicle had crossed a rocky pass in the hills the riders were no longer in sight.
Within a short time Jed was driving close to great herds of cattle, some browsing amidst the buffalo grass, while others ambled slowly through fields of tumbleweed.
Even the jolting of the buckboard could not prevent Dave from falling into a doze, and Willie, taking little interest in his surroundings, sat huddled up, his eyes half closed.
“Hip, hip, hooray!” yelled Sam Randall, with startling abruptness. “Hooray! There it is! Whoop!”
“What—what?” cried Willie, in affright.
“Circle T Ranch, you little goose!” snapped Sam. “Look—just beyond that rise.”
And Willie, with his eyes now wide open, saw straight ahead a long, low building shining brightly in the sunlight.