The ranch-house wore a sleepy, deserted look, although a thin column of brownish smoke issuing from a chimney at the rear told of life within.
"Only hope he's home," murmured Jack, wearily. "Don't believe my back'll ever feel right again."
"It's been a mighty hard tug with all this stuff," admitted Bob, "but if everything goes right, Jack, we'll soon have a few sturdy broncs to take us the rest of the way. Hello! There's some one coming now."
The big square door of the ranch-house had suddenly swung open, and an enormous man stepped onto the piazza. He stood gazing earnestly in their direction, as if not quite certain of his eyes, then walked slowly down the steps to meet them.
"Gracious, isn't he a whopper?" whispered Dick.
"Talk about your giants," murmured Tom; "he's one."
But the big man's full-bearded face was lighted up with such a pleasant expression that any feeling of constraint which his size might have inspired was instantly dispelled.
"How do you do, sir?" Jack greeted him politely. "You are Mr. Cattle King Irwin, I suppose?"
"Bless me," exclaimed the ranchman, in a deep, rumbling voice, "where in the world did you boys come from?"
Dick chuckled at the familiar question, while the others repressed a smile with difficulty.