“If I ever cross that blooming prairie again, I’ll know it; and so will every one else,” grumbled Willie Sloan, hopping out of the buckboard before it had stopped. “Goodness gracious, Warren, you don’t know how to drive. Say, Cran, I don’t wonder, now, that they punch the cattle, if the beasts are all as ugly as those we passed. Mr. Ogden? Glad to meet you, sir; and you too, sirs. Haven’t they got the longest horns? Oh, my, I mean the cattle, of course. Anyone injured yet, Mr. Clifton? Going in the old farmhouse, eh? Some day I’ll pound Cran for getting me out here.”
The lower floor of the house was divided into large, heavily-raftered rooms. Even a shaft of sunlight, stealing through one of the half-open windows and striking upon the opposite wall, failed to remove a pervading air of gloom.
“Oh, say, Cran, I don’t like this a little bit,” exclaimed Willie, frankly. “I’m going out on the steps.”
“Afraid of spooks, I suppose!” sniffed Tommy.
“You an’ I’ll meet in the dueling arena some day, Mr. Clifton,” returned Willie, as he retraced his steps.
Cranny laughed.
“And to think that I told dad they ought to get chummy,” he murmured.
“Yes, boys, you may examine our machines,” said Mr. Ogden, Senior, in response to a question from Bob Somers. “We have built three; and the ‘Ogden III’ is the one which is entered for the coming meet.”
“If it isn’t the very latest word in aeroplanes I’m much mistaken,” remarked Ferd. “Know anything about ’em, boys?”
“We hope to acquire a good deal of knowledge before leaving Lone Pine,” answered Dave, with a laugh.