Hans’ unfitness for holding his own among the rough men of the plains made them sorry for him, and they discussed various plans, without arriving at any conclusion, till well into the night.

“What’s the use of worrying?” said Tom finally.  “Chris will probably show up all right.  Let’s wait and see.”  And with this understanding the boys dropped the matter.

Despite the fact that the day was to see the end of their journey, the boys slept late.

“You ge’mmen better hurry if you all wants yo’ breakfas’ befoh yo’ gits to Tolopah,” interrupted the porter.  “We’ll be thar in half an hour.”

It was not a hearty meal the brothers and Hans ate, and soon they were back in their seats, looking to see that they had forgotten nothing before they closed their suit-cases.

Bringing two big valises of the extending kind the German sat with Larry and Tom.  But their high spirits found no response in him, and as they neared their destination he could with difficulty keep back the tears, so worried was he.

“Here we are!” exclaimed Larry as he caught sight of some houses and barns.

And his words were verified by the porter, who came through the car calling: 

“All out for Tolopah!”

Picking up their luggage, the boys hastened to the car steps.

“Hello, Bill!  Hello, Horace!” cried the brothers eagerly as they caught sight of their friends on the station platform.

At the greetings the Wilder boys hurried toward the car.

In the pleasure of the meeting Tom and Larry forgot Hans.

“Come on,” commanded Horace, seizing Tom’s suit-case.  “We won’t dally here in Tolopah.  We must get to the ranch before it gets too hot.”  And he led the way to where four bronchos stood tied to a railing.

Quickly the Wilders made fast the suit-cases to their saddles and untied the ponies.

“This is Blackhawk, Tom, and this is Lightning, Larry,” said Horace as he handed the reins to the two boys.  “They’re a couple of the best ponies in New Mexico, and while you’re here they’ll be yours.  You can get acquainted with them on the ride to the ranch.”

Both animals were splendid creatures, well built and powerful.  Blackhawk, as the name suggests, was jet black, his coat glistening in the sun, and Lightning was a roan.

Already Bill and Horace were on their ponies, and the two brothers were just swinging into their saddles when a voice cried: 

“Tom!  Larry!”

Turning their heads, the boys beheld Hans, the tears streaming down his cheeks, rushing toward them as fast as his valises would let him.

No need was there to ask if he had found a trace of his brother.  The tears told all too plainly that he had not.

“Who in the world is that?” asked Horace in astonishment.

“A German boy who traveled with us,” explained Tom.  “Do you know any one in Tolopah by the name of Chris Ober?”