Bert Wilson in the Rockies | Page 6

outlaws that the authorities of
three States have been after for a long time for robbery and murder, and
two of the descriptions fit these fellows to a dot. There's a price on their
heads, dead or alive, and I guess they've reached the end of their rope in
more senses than one."
He passed on and the boys relaxed in their seats. They were still under
the nervous strain of the stirring scene in which they had been the chief
actors. Tom's breath was coming fast and his eyes were shining.
Bert looked at him for a moment and then nudged Dick.
"Didn't I hear some one say a little while ago," he asked slyly, "that in
this little old United States there was too much civilization?"
"Yes," replied Dick, still quoting, "nothing ever happens nowadays."
CHAPTER II
The Ranch in the Rockies
With a great roar and rattle and clangor of bells, the train drew up at the
little station where the boys were to descend. Their long rail journey of
nearly three thousand miles was over, but they still had a forty-mile
drive before they would reach the ranch.
For a half hour previous they had been gathering their traps together
and saying good-by to their friends on the train. These last included all
of the travelers, who, since the capture of the robbers, had insisted on
making heroes of the boys. In vain they had protested that the thanks
were out of all proportion to the service rendered. The passengers
themselves knew better. And it was amid a chorus of the friendliest
farewells and good wishes that they had stepped to the rude platform of
the station.
"Not much of a metropolis about this," said Tom as they looked
around.

"Hardly," agreed Dick. "The principal thing here is space. You can
cross the street without the help of a traffic cop."
"And only one street to cross, at that," added Bert.
It was the typical small town of the Western plains. The one crooked
street parallel with the track stretched on either side of the station for
perhaps half a mile, lined with houses at irregular intervals. There was
no pretence of a sidewalk and even fences were conspicuous by their
absence. The business part of the town consisted of a general store that
served also as a post office, a blacksmith shop and three saloons, to one
of which a dance hall was attached. Business seemed brisk in these,
judging from the many mustangs that were tied to rails outside,
patiently waiting for their masters who were "tanking up" within and
accumulating their daily quota of "nose paint." A Mexican in a tattered
serape was sitting on the steps of the store rolling a cigarette, while an
Indian, huddled in a greasy blanket and evidently much the worse for
fire water, sat crouched against the shack that served as baggage-room
at the left end of the station.
Down the platform came hustling a big burly form that they recognized
in an instant.
"Mr. Melton," they cried in chorus as they rushed with extended hands
to meet him.
"Sure thing," he responded, his face beaming with delight at their
hearty greeting. "Did you think I'd send one of my men to meet you?
Not on your life. Nothing less than a broken leg would have kept me
from coming to give you the first welcome to old Montana. Came
down yesterday so that the horses could have a good rest before starting
back again. Come right along now and tumble into the buckboard. One
of my men will look after your duds and bring them along later."
All talking at once, they came to the farther end of the platform, where
a big mountain wagon was waiting. It was drawn by a pair of wiry
mustangs that champed impatiently at the bit.

"Not very pretty to look at," said Melton, "but they're holy terrors when
it comes to traveling. Jump in."
They all piled in and Melton gathered up the reins. He chirped to the
horses and they started off at a rate that justified all he had said as to
their speed. But he held them in check and subdued them to a trot that,
while moderate in appearance, ate up the miles amazingly.
"Pure grit and iron, those little sinners," he commented. "But they've
got a long way to go, and we're sure even at this rate to get home in
plenty of time for supper. Now, tell me all about yourselves."
Which they proceeded to do in detail, not neglecting the attempted
hold-up on the train. He listened with the keenest interest.
"So you got the best of 'Red' Thompson and 'Shag' Leary," he
exclaimed in astonishment. "The toughest nuts we've had to crack in