“Well,” said Roy laughing and greatly relieved, “I had this left out of the express money,” and he handed the agent a two-dollar bill.
“Say, kid,” the agent said, a little embarrassed, “where do you want that stuff took?”
When the boy explained that, at present, he only meant to check it up, the mollified official offered his assistance with alacrity. Within an hour Roy was joined by Colonel Weston, who had a look at the freight he was to transport.
“Fine,” he exclaimed, “all but the gasoline. But we’ll make it on one wagon. Old Dan Doolin is goin’ to drive fur us.”
About five o’clock the big, canvas-covered freight wagon was drawn over to the depot that the crates, boxes and gasoline cans might be loaded that night. The teamster, Colonel Weston, Roy and the depot agent were not long in doing this.
Roy looked at the big, crowded wagon and wrinkled his brows:
“Goin’ to be a kind of close fit for us, isn’t it?” he remarked to Mr. Weston.
“All three of us on that wobbly seat for nearly a hundred miles.”
“You don’t reckon I’m goin’ to ride on the wagon?”
Roy looked at him, mystified. Then suddenly he understood.
“Of course,” he answered, “you’ll ride horseback.”
“Naturally,” remarked his companion. “And I’m goin’ to give you a cow pony thet’s about as slick a piece o’ horse flesh as they is in these parts.”
Roy stopped. That was a dream of his life.
“Colonel Weston,” he almost shouted, “you’re a brick.”
Roy awoke, rose on his elbow to get his bearings, and then remembering that he was in Mrs. Weston’s “spare” bed, turned out and rushed to the window. “Sink Hole” Weston was entering the house.
It was nearly five o’clock and time to be off. The newly awakened boy lost no time. All his preparations had been made the night before. After writing letters he had laid out his new togs and packed his “shore” clothes, as he called them, in the suit-case. As he donned his gray flannel, his khaki, his new hat, and his boots, his heart fluttered like that of the youngster with his first long trousers.
Then he paused, in doubt. Hearing Mr. Weston in the adjoining room, he peeked cautiously through a narrow crack in the door. His heart leaped again. The one-time real estate agent and now plainsman once more had made no half way change. Dangling at his right leg was a holster and revolver. Roy, almost catching his breath for joy, made the finishing touch to his own get-up. Buckling on his belt, already carefully stuffed with ammunition, the boy felt the caress of the new automatic against his hip and leg and his happiness was nearly complete.