Four-in-hand Concord coaches, old-fashioned but in good repair, to which handsome black horses were hitched, were drawn up to the platform to carry away the tourists. There was bustle and laughter and shouting and excitement among the tourists, in which the khaki-clad Overland Riders took no part, for they were experienced travelers now just starting out on their regular summer outing in the saddle. The Overlanders, however, were interested in the busy scene at the little station. The quaint little town with its wooden buildings built in irregular formation, like many other far western towns, sat in a vast amphitheater formed by surrounding mountain ranges.
“Come, girls,” urged Grace Harlowe. “We must busy ourselves, for we have much to do. Tom, please inquire if our guide, Jake Coville, is here.”
“What concerns me most at the moment is where we are to eat,” spoke up Nora Wingate.
“I was about to ask the same question,” nodded Stacy Brown, more familiarly known to his companions as “Chunky,” whose appetite had never been known to be fully appeased.
“There is a hotel sign just across the way,” volunteered Miss Briggs.
“It takes more than a sign to make a hotel,” observed Grace laughingly. “That is especially true in this far western country, as we Riders have had ample evidence.”
“Let’s go! No food is worse than poor food,” urged Stacy.
“No breakfast until we have unloaded and fed the ponies,” called Hippy Wingate. “The animals need more attention than we do. Come along.”
“They don’t need it so much as this animal does,” declared Chunky.
“Feed the ponies; then we will think of food for ourselves,” was Hippy’s reply. “Tom, what about the guide?”
“I’ll find out.” Stepping over to the station agent, who was busy with a pile of trunks that had been unloaded from the Limited, Tom asked: “Do you know where we may find Jake Coville?” The agent, before replying, surveyed Tom from head to foot.
“Next to the last house down the street, after you have turned to your left, first turn.”
“It is strange that he is not here to meet us,” observed Tom, turning away.
“Perhaps he is one of the independent kind that has to be asked,” suggested Nora.
“Why doesn’t some one go fetch him?” demanded Emma.