"Well, I should rather say so," cried Dick. "Tell Mr. Irwin about the club, Bob, and some of our adventures."
With his hands clasped across his knees, the cattleman again assumed an easy attitude. His smile grew broader, and, as Bob finished, he broke into a deep, rumbling laugh.
"So this is the Rambler Club," he said. "Well, well! I hope your feelings won't be hurt, boys, when I say that I've never heard of you."
"Never even heard o' Jack Conroy?" snickered Tim—"that big chap sittin' over there? The gentleman never heard o' you, Jacky; did you hear?"
"Nobody outside the range of his voice ever did," laughed Tom.
"Perhaps the high hills in this part of the country stopped our fame from getting past," said Bob, with a smile. "How about those horses, Mr. Irwin?"
The ranchman stroked his beard thoughtfully, then his glance swept them again.
"The only horses I have for sale at present," he said, slowly, "are skittish animals not very well broken, and if anything happened to you boys I should feel myself responsible."
"Just the kind of horses we want," cried Bob, enthusiastically; "eh, fellows? You needn't have a bit of fear on our account, Mr. Irwin; the whole crowd are jolly good riders. We'll prove it, too, if you like."
"You bet we will," came from Tim.