In order to do this with the proper degree of unconcern, it was necessary to sell the big car and to buy a flivver that would negotiate anything once. Meteorite was a live town and was the headquarters of a stage line which would undoubtedly use the Twin-Duplex, so Sandy headed north to Meteorite.
"This is no place to settle down!" Douglas Murray wrinkled up his thin nostrils at the oil tanks and the dump heap which fringed Meteorite. They were arriving late in the afternoon. "This is an abode of filth--a commercial metropolis!"
"It's a good place to start from, ain't it!" quoth Willyum, gazing afar at the blue peaks rimming the horizon. "Once we could get out in them hills--aw, look at the colors on 'em! Wouldn't it be great to camp out there?"
Sandy smiled grimly at the wistful ignorance of the ex-burglar.
"I've done it in hills like 'em," he said, "lookin' for color of another kind, and I've been glad to drink the water out o' my radiator! Aiblins, now, we'll find what we're looking for, beyond Meteorite. Don't know much about this country."
It was four o'clock when they purred into Meteorite and drew up at the hotel--where was also the stage headquarters. The travelers were hot, dusty, and thirsty. Directly across the street from the hotel, was a flaring soft-drink parlor, its depths cool and inviting.
"Good!" exclaimed Douglas Murray, as he felt the hot sand beneath his feet. "Come on over to the liquid emporium, boys, and I'll set up the drinks!"
"Not me," Sandy grimaced. "That sort o' stuff gets my innards, Murray. Besides, I'd better be seein' about business right now. Aiblins, we might make a deal to-night and be gone to-morrow."
"Suit yourself," Murray shrugged. "How about you, Willyum? Ice cream or business?"
"Me fer the cold stuff," averred Bill Hobbs. "I'm dry."
"Come on, then. You register for us, Sandy? Thanks. We'll be back and join you shortly."
"Need any money?" volunteered Mackintavers.
"Nope. Not yet. We're far from broke, thanks."
Murray and Hobbs walked across the street, stiff-legged with much riding, and entered the alluring portals of the refreshment palace.
A single man leaned over the bar, slowly consuming a bottle of near-beer and talking with the white-aproned proprietor. He was a dusty man, a withered, sun-browned, sand-smitten specimen of desert rat, and was palpably the owner of the two burros tethered outside the entrance.