y," 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 thi