Comrades of the Saddle | Page 8

moving. They had already passed two nights and two days on
the train and the thought of putting another night in the berth,
especially as it was very hot, seemed impossible, making them fretful
and cross.
"Who is he?" asked Larry of the conductor, after the sheriff had left the
train.
"What, you never heard of Sam Jenks, sheriff of Pawnee County?"
"We come from Ohio," said Tom, as though apologizing for their
ignorance.
"That accounts for it. If you lived between the Mississippi and El Paso
you wouldn't ask such a question.
"Sam Jenks, known to every cowboy as 'Shorty,' is the nerviest man I
know. There isn't a cattle thief or a bad man in this part of the country
that won't run when he sees him--if he has the chance.

"You saw how Gus Megget and his gang got scared. It was just the
sight of Shorty that scared him. He's got a record of sending more cattle
thieves and crooked gamblers to jail than any three other sheriffs in the
country. There never was anything he's afraid of, and he's just as
tender-hearted as a kitten. Why, I know one time, after he'd sent a train
robber to prison, he took the money out of his own pocket to support
the rascal's wife and baby till he could get her folks to take her home.
You sure made a friend that's worth having."
On Hans' account, Larry and Tom kept up a lively chatter during the
evening, and it was not until the brothers were in their berths that they
broached the subject of what to do should the sheriff's suspicions prove
true.
Hans' unfitness for holding his own among the rough men of the plains
made them sorry for him, and they discussed various plans, without
arriving at any conclusion, till well into the night.
"What's the use of worrying?" said Tom finally. "Chris will probably
show up all right. Let's wait and see." And with this understanding the
boys dropped the matter.
Despite the fact that the day was to see the end of their journey, the
boys slept late.
"You ge'mmen better hurry if you all wants yo' breakfas' befoh yo' gits
to Tolopah," interrupted the porter. "We'll be thar in half an hour."
It was not a hearty meal the brothers and Hans ate, and soon they were
back in their seats, looking to see that they had forgotten nothing before
they closed their suit-cases.
Bringing two big valises of the extending kind the German sat with
Larry and Tom. But their high spirits found no response in him, and as
they neared their destination he could with difficulty keep back the
tears, so worried was he.
"Here we are!" exclaimed Larry as he caught sight of some houses and

barns.
And his words were verified by the porter, who came through the car
calling:
"All out for Tolopah!"
Picking up their luggage, the boys hastened to the car steps.
"Hello, Bill! Hello, Horace!" cried the brothers eagerly as they caught
sight of their friends on the station platform.
At the greetings the Wilder boys hurried toward the car.
In the pleasure of the meeting Tom and Larry forgot Hans.
"Come on," commanded Horace, seizing Tom's suit-case. "We won't
dally here in Tolopah. We must get to the ranch before it gets too hot."
And he led the way to where four bronchos stood tied to a railing.
Quickly the Wilders made fast the suit-cases to their saddles and untied
the ponies.
"This is Blackhawk, Tom, and this is Lightning, Larry," said Horace as
he handed the reins to the two boys. "They're a couple of the best
ponies in New Mexico, and while you're here they'll be yours. You can
get acquainted with them on the ride to the ranch."
Both animals were splendid creatures, well built and powerful.
Blackhawk, as the name suggests, was jet black, his coat glistening in
the sun, and Lightning was a roan.
Already Bill and Horace were on their ponies, and the two brothers
were just swinging into their saddles when a voice cried:
"Tom! Larry!"
Turning their heads, the boys beheld Hans, the tears streaming down
his cheeks, rushing toward them as fast as his valises would let him.

No need was there to ask if he had found a trace of his brother. The
tears told all too plainly that he had not.
"Who in the world is that?" asked Horace in astonishment.
"A German boy who traveled with us," explained Tom. "Do you know
any one in Tolopah by the name of Chris Ober?"
"Struck out for old Mexico, prospecting for gold, three months ago,"
replied Bill. "Why?"
"That's his brother Hans, who has come from Berlin to visit him,"
returned Tom. And hurriedly he