The cattleman insisted upon their spending the night at the ranch; so they finally bade the men good-night, gathered up their blankets and were conducted up-stairs to a room in the wing.
"It's the only place I can offer you, boys," he said, regretfully. "Hope you'll be able to make yourselves comfortable."
The flashing rays of his lantern disclosed an apartment partly filled with odds and ends. Near one side a ladder led to the roof.
"Oh, we'll make out all right," laughed Bob.
A few minutes later the seven were alone. Two lanterns suspended from staples in the wall threw grotesque shadows over the rude board flooring.
"Isn't this the cheerful-looking place, though?" murmured Tom, shivering slightly. "Gee! Pretty near as bad as that bridge at Wild Oak."
"A heap worse, Tom," grinned Dick. "Inside spookiness beats outside ghostliness every time. But it won't bother me a little bit."
Their voices and footsteps echoed with a strange, hollow sound as they walked over the creaking boards.
"An' talkin' 'bout broncho bustin'," began Jack, suddenly, "why—"
"Who's talking about it?" chirped Tom, rudely. "Forget it, and let's turn in."