ude of the open
spaces, had its effect upon them. They rode awhile in subdued silence.
But not for long. Frank's lively spirits were the first to rebound.

"Race you to that rock," he cried, pointing to a solitary outcropping
of rock, about twice a man's height, about a quarter of a mile ahead.

"You're on," cried Jack, spurring his horse.

"Attaboy," yelled Bob, doing likewise.

With a shout that shattered the silence as if a band of wild Indians
were hitting the trail, the three boys dashed away.

Presently they pulled up by the rock, practically neck and neck. Their
eyes were alight now with the zest of adventure.

"Gee, it's great to be alive," cried Frank.

"You said it," declared Bob.

Jack nodded laughingly, but the next moment his face became grave.

"Just the same," he said, "we mustn't do that again."

"Why not?" demanded Bob.

"Well, for one thing, we must save our horses as much as possible. We
already have come twenty miles, and we have thirty miles more to go
before reaching Tom's cave."

"For one thing?" questioned Bob. "What's your other reason?"

"Just that we don't want to draw attention to ourselves."

"You're right, Jack," said Frank. "I'll not start anything again."

They jogged on.

A martial trio they made. Jack was clothed in the khaki shirt, riding
breeches, high laced leather boots and sombrero in which he had met
the boys on their arrival at Ransome. Bob and Frank were similarly
outfitted. Tom Bodine was about of Bob's proportions, and his partner
Dave Morningstar had the build of the slighter Frank. These two old
cow punchers had given the boys the run of their wardrobes. Each lad
carried an automatic at his hip swinging from a well-filled cartridge
belt. In addition, Jack bore his repeating rifle in a leather scabbard
on his saddle.

Frank cast an appraising eye over himself and his comrades, and
grinned with approval. Despite Jack's rebuke, he could not long keep
silence.

"Well, here we go, fellows," he said cheerfully, "just like the Three
Musketeers. Jack with your air of melancholy you can be Athos. Bob is
big enough to be Porthos, although I have got his appetite. I'm
Aramis."

"Aramis was always dreaming about the ladies," said Bob slily. "Heard
from Della lately?"

Frank was silent a moment under the sly dig, his thoughts flying back
to the faraway Long Island home. But his irrepressible spirits would
not permit him to remain silent for long, and soon he bur