“All right, sonny,” answered Jed, with apparent meekness.
When the river was reached Jed followed its willow-covered banks for some distance, and, at length, forded the stream. Cranny, Tim Lovell and the Ramblers were now but tiny specks in the distance. Cattle still surrounded them on all sides, and it was a great relief to William Sloan when Circle T Ranch finally came into view.
By the time they arrived, the boys were lolling about the porch in careless ease. Valdez, the dark-skinned Mexican, came quickly forward and took charge of the buckboard and horses, while Willie climbed wearily to the ground.
“Where’s your hat, sonny?” asked Jed, who noticed that his hair was blowing about in the breeze.
“About five miles back on the prairie, I guess.”
The boys on the porch began to roar.
“What became of it?” demanded Cranny.
“That’s a nice question to ask, when I just told you. S’pose you mean how did it happen?”
“Oh, we know you couldn’t help it,” returned the other.
“That old thing on the driver’s seat made those two poor nags nearly break their necks; and the breeze was fierce. I had my hat on the seat. It must have blown off when I wasn’t looking.”