"Golly—did you see the old boy streak it out!"
"Oh, cracky! hold me up, somebody, or I'll fall off!"
"Now—who's gettin'—old!" panted Billee. "Beat me, hey? Not in—a million years!"
"What do you say, boys—we give Billee a salute!"
Four guns flashed out of the holsters and were raised aloft.
"Bang!"
They roared as one.
"Sure sounds like a celebration," chuckled Nort as he blew the few remaining grains of burnt powder from his smoking barrel, and replaced the gun. "Billee, accept my congratulations!"
"Granted, youngster—if that's what I'm supposed to say," Billee retorted, his eyes twinkling. "And just remember—a man's not old out here until he can't ride no more."
"You look as though you might be good for several hundred years yet, if that's the case," laughed Dick. "Anyway, you sure showed me a few things. Say, that race made me pretty thirsty. Is there a water hole near here, Kid, or shall I use my canteen?"