“WHAT CAN A CHAP DO OUT HERE?”
“Ginger! What can a chap do out here?” he grumbled, speaking to Bob. “Don’t like it?—Why, say, what in the dickens is there to like about it? Ride bronchos, eh? Not much! I’d like to punch Cran for getting me out here; yes, I should. Only wish I was back in Tacoma.”
“Cheer up,” sniffed Tommy. “Don’t begin to blubber.”
“I’ll whale somebody of your length in a few minutes,” returned Willie, his grin suddenly returning. “Speaking to me, sir?” he added, raising his voice.
“Yes; won’t you boys come inside? After such a long ride, you must be tired,” remarked Mr. Follett. “We’ll have an early supper.”
“And uncommonly glad I am, too,” murmured Dave Brandon. “Say, fellows, don’t the mountains look fine?”
“How can a streak o’ blue look fine?” grunted Willie, as his eyes turned toward the jagged peaks of the distant range. “Stop dreaming, David B.”
The first floor of the ranch-house contained two apartments, the larger used as a dining-room. There was a great deal in it, too, which should have aroused the interest of any wide-awake lad—objects of the chase, mounted in lifelike attitudes, besides Indian relics and firearms, arranged artistically about the walls; but Willie merely yawned.
“My, but don’t I wish I hadn’t come,” he mumbled in a scarcely audible voice. “Ride bronchos? Oh, ginger!”
Up-stairs, the boys found three cool, inviting rooms already prepared for their reception. They soon washed, and changed their traveling clothes for the more comfortable khaki suits which they had brought with them.